Cornerstone
by KarotsaMused
Summary: COMPLETE! Triggers start explosions that can crack foundations. Collapse depends on the strength of the cornerstone.
1. Keiji

A/N: A fiction in which whatever can go wrong normally does. Nobody's safe from that ^.^ (I must warn readers of my naturalistic tendencies early! This won't be too fluffy...)  
  
Disclaimer: Saiyuki and its characters are not mine. I lay claim to Hoshimura Kaida, Keiji-dono, Jiro-san, Kozue-dono and other unfamiliar youkai that will appear, however.   
  
Note: This fiction will actually be pretty organized if you make note of the chapter titles. Each chapter will focus around one of two people, either Keiji or Gojyo. Chapters involving Keiji will have titles starting with 'K' and 'G' is designated for those chapters centered about Gojyo. But that'll be pretty easy to figure out because this is written in third-person anyway.  
  
Warnings: Violence, language, substance abuse (Come on, this involves Sanzo...), and shounen-ai. But even I have yet to really decide upon the pairings so I'm not putting those up front.  
  
That's about it...welcome to chapter 1. It's basically just an introduction to Keiji and his place within the oddly complex hierarchy of his tribe. Because I felt like making it that way ^.^ Enjoy!  
  
(Reviews encouraged - tell me if I suck!)  
  
***  
  
"Hai, Hoshimura-dono."  
  
She grinned, showing fangs yellowed with age and honed with use. They gleamed dully in the sparse candlelight. "Please, Keiji-kun. Call me 'Oka-san.'"  
  
Keiji flinched under the fall of his hair and nodded. "Hai, Hoshi...I mean, Oka-san."  
  
She nodded, approval shining like the madness in her yellow-green eyes. "Dismissed."  
  
Keiji turned and strode out of her tent as quickly as he dared. 'Oka-san,' he thought bitterly, passing and ignoring the frenzy of feeding to his immediate left. 'Right.' He made his way through the mess of roots and rocks to his own tent, nodding to a lower-level youkai set to guard the front flaps. The youkai squealed and raced away to take his place among the squabble for meat. Keiji turned his eyes from the scene, taking refuge in his own tent and seating himself upon the soft, worn pad that accounted for most of the ground cover. He pulled the outermost layer of furs from his shoulders, uncomfortable at the heat within his tent. The candles used for light created a stuffy atmosphere under the flaps of canvas. However, even having candles within this tribe, Keiji knew, was a luxury. He sighed and began to work at his boots.  
  
A helmet rested at the head end of the pad, glinting in the flickering light of the candles. Anomalous among youkai, but effective in concealing his identity when in battle. When Keiji was coated in blood, his scent obscured, the helmet provided for him to be completely lost.  
  
But outside of battle, outside of the blessed clash of fists and claws, Keiji could only rely upon his own stamina, his own pride, his family name. Even this, however, was withheld until he earned its prestige through intellectual prowess and physical technique. His own mother would not acknowledge her son until it proved advantageous to do so. Some of her underlings have yet to accept him.  
  
Hoshimura Keiji, upon birth, had a brilliant shock of red hair in shades of dilute wine. The fuzz could not be mistaken for birthing fluids upon the opening of his scarlet eyes. His mother had been ignoring the pregnancy throughout the entire gestation period, adopting the hope that, if ignored, the baby would just go away. Upon realizing the baby would come, she killed his father in a fit of rage. No one else knew his true parentage except for the slave that washed him. She stifled her gasp as the child opened his eyes and stole him away, raising him as her own. Hoshimura Kaida, his biological mother, was all too eager to let him go.  
  
Keiji grew up as a slave, eventually the whipping boy of the entire tribe. He recognized his looks in the face of his caregiver and was never led to believe the red hair and eyes he shared with her were anything other than biological. He realized the treatment of the other slaves was nothing compared to his and did what came naturally.  
  
As his skills as a fighter improved, Hoshimura Kaida received complaints. Instead of killing him, she let it continue. Until Keiji proved himself useful. And he became accepted as Hoshimura Keiji, rightful son of the most influential female youkai in the tribe.  
  
Keiji lay back, staring at the canvas above him. The conversation with his supposed mother had unsettled him, angered him. At once she brought to his attention the execution of the slave hanyou that had raised him, his beloved and the only mother he would acknowledge. Before the shock could wear off, she then explained to him his promotion. From Hoshimura to Keiji-dono. A veritable lord, in charge of his own pack. Tokuzen Kozue was the only other tribesman to hold such an honor. And Kozue was a pureblood.  
  
Keiji closed his eyes, pressing his eyelids hard against the tears threatening to spill down the sides of his brown cheeks. His ears stung at the fresh, unwanted gold rings piercing the skin. Marks of merit in sudden promotion. In one list of edicts he was transplanted, his mother replaced, his safety severely threatened. "Does she mean to kill me?" he murmured to himself, suddenly amused by the series of events. "It is effective, pitting me against those who want my position." His eyes snapped open at the sound of footfalls outside his tent. He pushed himself upright, muscles tensed in paranoia influenced by his particular line of thought.  
  
"Keiji-dono?" someone called, the gruff voice unused to the honorific when referring to Keiji.  
  
Keiji frowned at the title and snapped, "What?"  
  
A handsome pureblood with a broad, brown face and shaggy, black hair pulled back the front flap, bowing before poking his head in. "Hoshimura-dono summoned me to your tent, Keiji-dono. I am Akagawa Jiro, your new second-in-command." His golden eyes were serious, but his voice held a lilt of amusement. Keiji ignored the sleight in the face of the current of irritation coursing through him and merely nodded.  
  
"Is that all, Jiro-san?"  
  
"Not quite, Keiji-dono. Word has it there is a party of travelers camped on the northern outskirts of the forest. One of them is rumored to possess something highly valued by Hoshimura-dono. And she wants you to retrieve it, Keiji-dono."  
  
Keiji clenched his fists, biting back a scathing remark along the lines of 'Oka-san' being a bitch and thus being entitled to treat her son like a dog. "Is that all you know?"  
  
Jiro shrugged slightly, evidently comfortable in the presence of his supposed better. "He is a monk and the others are youkai. Dangerous, all of them."  
  
"Not dangerous enough. If you have nothing more to tell me, you are dismissed. We head out at dawn." Keiji almost smirked at the romanticism of the statement.  
  
"Hai, Keiji-dono."  
  
Keiji watched as Jiro left him, heard the youkai shout Keiji's orders to whomever he was supposed to lead. With a frown, he ran his hand through the shaggy length of his hair, brushing the ends of it from clinging to the wetness of his eyes. "Keiji-dono," he muttered, a sneer curling the end of the title.  
  
He snuffed out each candle between his fingers, sucked absently at the heat each wick left, and lay back in the darkness with no intention of sleeping. 


	2. Giddy

A/N: Was it suicidal to start this fic with a chapter that does not directly mention -any- of the Sanzo-ikkou? Well, I remedy that here. It's -all- about the boys you know and love (to hate, in certain cases). The next chapter will be Sanzo-ikkou-centric as well. So I make up for chapter 1 ^.^  
  
Enjoy!  
  
***  
  
"Bum a cigarette?" Gojyo asked, glancing needily at the pack in Sanzo's hand.  
  
"Suffer, kappa," was the reply, punctuated by a scathing look. Gojyo frowned and turned from the monk, slumping against a tree.  
  
Hakkai and Goku sat by the fire they had managed to construct. Goku inhaled the food in front of him and Hakkai looked on with a small smile, his fingers ghosting gently over the dozing dragon in his lap. He was losing feeling in his legs from sitting sedate in one position for so long, but Hakuryuu was exhausted. Far be it for Hakkai to put himself over the comforts of others.  
  
Gojyo stretched out, growling at the tree under which he sat for having roots that broke the surface and knuckled into his backside. Sanzo kicked him absently, flicking ash in the kappa's general direction. Gojyo glared up at the surly blonde, itching to grab the cigarette and pound his perfect face into a mess of sick bruises. The smoke may have been drifting upward to obscure Sanzo's eyes from view, but the smell of it reached Gojyo from his position at knee-height. His knuckles twitched.  
  
And stopped as the small hairs rose up on his arms, sending shivers down to his hands. "Oi..."  
  
"I hear 'em, too," Goku murmured, swallowing the remnants of a mouthful and calling the nyoibou to his hands. "Smell like youkai. They're kinda far off, though."  
  
"Aw, and it was getting so -peaceful-, too," Gojyo muttered, a characteristic smirk twisting his lips.  
  
When a few minutes passed with no sign of an attacker, no hint toward a confrontation, Goku shifted uneasily. "Should I go after them?"  
  
Hakkai set his mouth in an easy smile. "It is rather odd. I'm sure if Gojyo could feel them, they know where we are."  
  
Gojyo smirked again. "Unless they're idiots. But I feel watched."  
  
Sanzo shrugged. "Let them."  
  
Goku gave him a restless, baleful look, but forced himself to sit again, to regain some semblance of nonchalant normalcy. Gojyo felt for the saru, wanting just as much to take out some frustrations on anything unfortunate enough to disturb their apparent tranquility. But soon Goku settled down, unable to refuse an order from Sanzo.  
  
Gojyo leaned back against the tree, having sat up straight in unrequited anticipation. The strangeness of the situation, however, lost rank in his mental hierarchy as Sanzo tossed away the end of one cigarette and immediately lit another.  
  
"I take that personally," Gojyo muttered, just loud enough so the monk above him could hear. If the remark met the blonde's ears, he made no sign of recognition. Gojyo hadn't expected one.  
  
After a while, Goku lost the disturbed downward twist to his mouth and let out a yawn. Hakkai smiled and nudged Hakuryuu awake.  
  
"We could use a bed," he murmured, and let the dragon flit off to a patch of level ground. There, the small, white creature ceased to glow eerily in the light of the moon as it became a car in shades of olive drab. Hakkai got to his feet and Goku followed suit, eager for whatever cushioning Jiipu was able to provide.  
  
"Coming, Gojyo?" Hakkai asked. "Goku will take up the entire backseat if you don't."  
  
Gojyo shrugged, nestling against the hard ground. "I don't feel like fighting with him. I'll stay by the fire."  
  
Goku gave a little whoop and dove into the backseat, dramatically stretching out. Then he sat up. "Wait, you don't feel like fighting? Hakkai, is he okay?"  
  
Hakkai laughed and climbed into the drivers' seat. "I don't think we have to worry, Goku. Go to sleep."  
  
As farewell pleasantries were exchanged within the confines of Jiipu's green doors, Gojyo shifted uncomfortably against the cold dirt. He accidentally bumped the leg beside him, putting himself on the receiving end of a blue-violet glare.  
  
"Are you done yet?"  
  
"Not my fault it's cold down here." Gojyo grinned. "Could use an extra source of heat."  
  
Sanzo's glare intensified through his disgust. "Ch. The fire's that way."  
  
It wasn't the first time Sanzo had turned him down. It wouldn't be the last. Still, Gojyo contemplated snaking a hand under those dirty robes and just laying it between Sanzo's feet. Just to see what new form of torture the disgruntled monk could devise.   
  
But the expression on Sanzo's face, the stiffening of his spine, the clenching of his delicate little hands... the glee Gojyo would take from such reactions could in no way outweigh the pain of having every last one of his fingers bitten off and fed to him. And that was if Sanzo was feeling his personal equivalent of playful.  
  
In the end, Gojyo kept his hands to himself in favor of shifting closer to the warmth of the fire. Sanzo tossed down the end of his cigarette and joined the others in Jiipu's carriage without a word to the man on the ground.  
  
Gojyo grabbed the end before it burned out on the ground and brushed the dust from the filter, planting it between his lips. He coaxed one good puff from the end before it died, and he tossed it in the fire with the taste of Sanzo and nicotine in his mouth. 


	3. Genocide

A/N: Welcome to chapter three ^.^  
  
Warnings: The fight scene approacheth! If you've read anything else of mine, you know I'm the queen of intimation. But you should get the picture. Blood and guts and decapitation and character hurties. Oh, and language too.  
  
Notes to reviewers at the end of the chapter...  
  
Enjoy!  
  
***  
  
Gojyo awoke before the sun, much to his discomfort. He swiped blearily for the boot that had kicked him and connected with something that let out an indignant squawk.  
  
"Urusei!" Sanzo hissed, silencing Goku before he could begin to bicker with the kappa at his feet. Gojyo opened his eyes and blinked into the darkness, trying unsuccessfully to focus on those around him. His cold limbs ached, sore from being pressed into knotted roots in slumber. The meal last night hadn't agreed with him as completely as it should have, adding the burn of indigestion to taint his breath and worsen the craving for nicotine the prior night's dogend had in no way abated. And the tense current in the air did nothing to improve his mood.  
  
The thick-wind sound of fabric brushing skin sent the small hairs on Gojyo's arms rising, and he grinned at the chance to finally finish what had been started so many hours ago. Hakkai gave an exasperated sigh, rather ironically mimicking the motions of a schoolteacher thoroughly tired of the behavior of his students. Equally at the end of his proverbial rope was Sanzo, although his expression wasn't half so mockingly affectionate.   
  
Goku caught the first one before it had a chance to even hit the ground, jamming the nyoibou so forcefully into its chest Gojyo could hear ribs cracking from the impact.  
  
Nothing was quite like the rush of combat. Of -real- fighting that tested skill and pushed the limits of endurance. The Sanzo-ikkou would have to settle for another bout of what they lovingly dubbed 'exercise' as the myriad of youkai rushing at them were either muscle-brained or impeded by the brethren packed in on all sides. It was enough.  
  
In an easy swing, Gojyo relieved four or five youkai of their heads, smirking and sweating and enjoying the hell out of himself. Around him, the sick thuds of weapons meeting their mark, the cacophony of war-wails and grunts of pain, the steady cadence of well-aimed gunshots formed a familiar orchestra set to the tempo of his breathing. He sent the blade of the shakujou out again, stretching rebelling muscles and reveling in the blood flows that warmed his hands and stained the ground.  
  
Because of the scope of his weapon, Gojyo normally found himself alone, the center of a ring of enemies. This time, however, Hakkai pressed his back to Gojyo's, never breaking the fluid pace of his own brand of hand-to-hand.  
  
"They're trying to separate us," he murmured, not even breathing hard. Gojyo couldn't fathom the man's control.  
  
"Nothing new," he replied, ignoring the blasts of chi in his peripheral vision. They were just as much of a reassurance as the ringing gunshots and curses from the monk.  
  
"It's different." Hakkai's curt reply was sufficient, but foreboding. Gojyo pushed it from his mind and continued mutilating the bodies that pressed too close.  
  
The sun rose over the horizon, illuminating the battlefield with a rosy glow. Birds began to chirp over the scene of carnage, and the first flowers slowly began to flex their petals, opening for the day. Sunrise saw few living youkai in three circles with the largest perimeter about Gojyo and Hakkai.  
  
From his left he saw something careening toward them, spinning wildly but destructive nonetheless. "Hakkai!" Gojyo cried, dodging out of the way. He meant to pull his companion with him but missed the edge of his shirt, grasping only at empty air.  
  
His call only served to give Hakkai time to turn and meet the missile head-on.  
  
Like a swarm, youkai came in droves from between the trees, racing over their fallen comrades and into the battle. Gojyo, in the face of a dissipating adrenaline rush and nausea over the fallen Hakkai, steadied himself with the shakujou but found none of the youkai paid him any attention.  
  
Four gunshots rang out, and the swarm's cries reached fever pitch.  
  
Gojyo hesitated, hovering over Hakkai.  
  
The green eyes that met his were unfocused, the pupils dilated with pain. His voice broke when he spoke, but the order came out loud and clear. "Go, Gojyo!" ...I'm fine...  
  
And, relying upon the unspoken lie Hakkai would have added, Gojyo ran toward the receding pack. Part of it broke away, circled about a veritable explosion of youkai parts and wild cries. An arm shot out from the crowd and nearly missed smacking Gojyo in the side, and he decided to leave Goku to himself. If the saru's anger should overtake him and bring about another appearance of Seiten Taisei, only Sanzo would be able to restrain him, should he so choose.   
  
On he raced, through the tangle of trees, into denser forest. But his tracking skills were nothing compared to Goku's and the maze of flora allowed the youkai to disappear before Gojyo could catch them. But he continued, unable to bring himself to return to Goku, to Hakkai.  
  
The run slowed to a trot, then to a walk. His adrenaline completely used, he found himself exhausted, distraught, and horribly lost. He'd tried tracking before, remembering what side of a tree holds moss, how to tell direction from the sun. It meant nothing to a kappa that didn't even care enough to try to read a map.  
  
He sat down at the base of a tree and refused to panic. Sure, Sanzo had been carted off by thousands of savage youkai who planned to do who-knew-what to the blonde. Gojyo shuddered, hundreds of instances where the man's golden hair had caught the eye of passersby coming to mind. Not even Gojyo's hurt pride, his sense of vengeance could allow for -that-. Not even Sanzo deserved it. And Goku, if he hadn't totally lost it by that time, was probably on Sanzo's trail, ready to kill anyone in his way. And while Gojyo knew the saru had unbelievable power, he doubted Goku's ability to take on quite so many adversaries. Hakkai would try to stop him, but he would have gone anyway. Hakkai.  
  
Gojyo bent his head and bit his fist when Hakkai came to mind. "My fucking fault the damn' rock hit him in the first place," he snarled, thinking of the pathetic, wretched body on the ground. The intensity in his eyes had never ebbed, but the confidence in his voice was gone, the smile was gone.  
  
"Gojyo."  
  
The redhead nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard his name. Goku glared at him, coated in blood that was not his own and shaking with rage.  
  
"You lost them." Goku stepped forward, a fist raised, lower lip trembling. "You're fucking just -sitting- there and you -lost- them!"  
  
Gojyo put up his hands, getting to his feet and using whatever advantage height gave him. "I couldn't keep up."  
  
Goku cried out in rage and swung, purposefully missing and knocking the bark from the tree to Gojyo's right. Then he turned to follow them.  
  
"Wait!" Gojyo cried, catching his collar. Goku shrugged him off.  
  
"I've still got the trail. Let me go, bakayarou!"  
  
Gojyo pulled hard on Goku's collar. "What about Hakkai?"  
  
"What about -Sanzo-?"  
  
They stared hard at each other, locked in a glaring match. Atoms fried between their eyes.  
  
Gojyo spoke first. "Hakkai's definitely hurt and we left him in the middle of all those dead youkai. Hakkai will be able to help us think about how to get Sanzo back. Spending time with Hakkai will help." He talked in disbelieving monotone, forcing the logic upon himself. Goku's brow furrowed as intelligence won over loyalty and he nodded.  
  
"Lead me back," Gojyo said, and followed Goku out into the sunlight.  
  
*  
  
Gojyo pulled his belt from about his waist and shoved it in Hakkai's mouth. "Bite it. Come on, saru, help me move this rock," he said, pointing to the boulder that had sufficiently pinned Hakkai down by his left arm.  
  
Goku ignored the name in this moment and placed his hands under Gojyo's. "On three."  
  
The obligatory count was taken and the two heaved, moving the weight from Hakkai. Gojyo couldn't ignore the muffled scream as blood flow returned to Hakkai's starved forearm. He wished the man would black out if only to wipe the expression from his blood-spattered features.   
  
"Oi, Goku," Gojyo murmured uncertainly, staring at the shattered lump that was Hakkai's left arm. "D'you remember anything Hakkai said about...first aid?"   
  
***  
  
Notes to reviewers:  
  
UltraM: I firmly believe that the best purpose for 3x5 is in use as measurement for the oh-so-ubiquitous index card. This is 3x5/5x3 in the same way the anime/manga is 3x5/5x3. Gojyo's just a horny thing that likes to tease Sanzo. I'm far more...traditional in my pairings. Other than that, yeah, Keiji is a lot like Kougaiji (Eh, more on that later ^.^) but I'll try to differentiate later on. I can't help it if I love Kougaiji...he just sort of influenced Keiji even though I wasn't really paying attention to it. (I don't know why people put so many non-canon characters in their fictions. It's hard to come up with original stuff sometimes!) I swear Keiji won't be -too- much like Kougaiji later on. Patience ^.^  
  
Sf: If you want short chapters, read my Yu Yu Hakusho fictions. These chapters are epic compared to those in the Secondhand story arc. So nyah ^.^ And, um, I'm glad I provoked an interesting reaction at the mental image of Sanzo biting off Gojyo's fingers. That wasn't really a premeditated thing, but I needed a torture. I s'pose I chose well. ^.^  
  
And to NekoMegami-chan and Nanatsusaya: Thank you so-o-o much for reviewing! It makes me so happy and speeds the creative process like you wouldn't believe ^.^ (Oh, and Nanatsusaya: Glad you find me consistent ^.^)  
  
Stay tuned for chapter four, where we finally find out what happened to Sanzo! (Oh, like you couldn't guess!) 


	4. Keeps

A/N: You all were wondering what happened to Sanzo? Lots of stuff! And although I shy from the rabid reviewers' cries of "ABUSE PEOPLE!" (I still love you guys, btw lol) the blonde's a bit more than bruised.   
  
Warnings: Language, violence, and saddle sore ^.^  
  
Enjoy...  
  
***  
  
"Keiji-dono?"  
  
Keiji yawned widely, having left the task of leading his pack to Jiro in favor of sleep. 'Early' truly was an ungodly hour. "What?" he asked, shoving his fingers through the tangles in his hair. Thankfully, the youkai outside his tent made no move to enter.  
  
"Your pack awaits you. Hoshimura-dono summoned a horse to take you to them."  
  
"Why aren't they here?" Keiji snapped, irritated at having to ride. Horses disagreed with Keiji like rain disagreed with fire. Plus, the devilish things always seemed to have -him- on four legs by the end of the day.  
  
The youkai outside the door huffed indignantly, then muttered something unsavory under his breath. Louder, he growled, "In case they were followed, we do not want the main camp attacked."  
  
Keiji rubbed his face with both hands and began stuffing his feet into his boots. "It's three fucking youkai!"  
  
"With all due respect, Keiji-dono, those 'three fucking youkai' and the monk cut your pack's numbers by a third."  
  
*  
  
"Damn' horse, damn' horse, damn' horse," Keiji snarled to himself, swaying dangerously with every hoofbeat. Someone, he was sure, had spurred the wretched thing into a gallop and Keiji had no way of slowing it down. He winced as he bounced against the horse's unpadded spine, anticipating unbelievable soreness whenever he managed to get off. The youkai that had awoken him rode alongside, barely able to hide his laughter.  
  
Higurawa Ren, a pureblood neither articulate nor handsome, was nevertheless quick-witted and quite loyal. Ren often found himself in trouble for his smart mouth when he made his thoughts known. Instead, he focused on another, seemingly innocuous form of mischief. His hand still stung from the slap he had given to the rump of Keiji's horse, but the expression on his lord's face was beyond worth a little digital numbness. He spurred his horse on, wild black curls catching on twigs as he passed the trees, and led his lord to the area deemed safe enough for his pack to set up camp.  
  
They arrived by midday, slick with sweat from both the heat and, in Keiji's case, exertion in staying on his horse. The body below him, for all its sharp spine and unstable muscle movement, had tired itself enough to stop of its own accord, and Keiji thankfully passed the reins to a lower-level youkai. When his feet hit the ground, his vision swam at the lack of movement, at the pressure on his feet. Unbelievably, he'd gotten used to the movements of his horse and now had to take a second to adjust to solid earth. Already his thighs and the region there encased voiced complaints, rubbed raw and sensitive to even the roughness of his clothing. Still, he followed Ren at a respectable pace.  
  
Shouts, whoops, and stomps met his ears as they ventured further toward the makeshift camp.  
  
"Ren-san, what's going on?" Keiji asked, although he feared he already knew.  
  
Ren shrugged with one shoulder, glancing back to make sure Keiji was keeping pace. "Celebrating the fact that they caught the monk, Keiji-dono."  
  
"I need him alive," Keiji murmured, breaking into a trot.  
  
"Keiji-dono! Jiro-san is in there; he wouldn't let them kill him."  
  
Keiji gave a caustic glance over his shoulder at Ren. "I need him articulate, cognitive, and -conscious-."  
  
Ren made a face and began to jog to catch up with Keiji. "Go faster, Keiji-dono," he advised, before starting to run himself.  
  
Keiji found Jiro outside a large ring of youkai. The youkai's pupils dilated at the sight of his lord and he shoved his way to the center, announcing Keiji's arrival. Keiji smirked at that, at the sudden reverent silence marred by not-so-respectful scowls in his direction for the interruption of their fun.  
  
In the center of the ring was a body, trembling in pain and fear. Keiji marveled at the terror radiating from the center of the ningen, how his whole body shook as he tried to force himself upright. He took a step forward toward him, almost in pity, until the face turned to him and piercing blue-violet eyes met his. Fear was something unknown to this man, who trembled with rage and exhaustion in the effort to stand and face him.  
  
The pack had certainly beaten his body to a veritable pulp. The man's face, the only skin visible, was a mess of bruises and blood stained his teeth from a bitten tongue. Blood trailed down the sides of his face from patches of his scalp where the golden hair had been torn away. It shone against the black collar halfway up his neck and stained the ivory cloth over his shoulders. And Keiji recognized what his mother wanted.  
  
"Jiro-san," Keiji murmured, "you and Ren-san strip him to the waist. And keep his clothes clean and intact. Got that?"  
  
"Hai, Keiji-dono," Jiro replied, rushing to the man and taking him roughly by the wrists. He had little life left in him to struggle after what must have been hours' thorough beating, and his breath hitched sharply at having his arms moved.  
  
"Gently, I want him conscious," Keiji admonished, unable to tear his eyes from the ragdoll between the two burly youkai. As translucent, pale skin was revealed, the crowd about them raised another chorus of calls. The man may have only bared his shoulders, but his shape was now evident. Bruises ran purple and yellow over his bare skin and his breathing was labored. Broken ribs, blows to the gut, blows to the spine. Keiji knew too well the injuries sustained when one plays catch with youkai and acts as the ball. When Jiro released his arms, the right one fell useless to the ground, the fingers tinged with blue. He made to strip the man further, but Keiji cleared his throat.  
  
"No need, Jiro-san. Have someone take that to my quarters, assuming I have them."  
  
Jiro nodded and bowed. Shining silver clattered to the ground. Jiro picked it up and frowned at it, slightly nonplussed.  
  
"Give it here, Jiro-san," Keiji ordered. It was deposited in his hands as Jiro passed the top of the man's robe to a slave. Keiji turned the gun over in his hands and cocked it, pointing it at one of the youkai to his right. The youkai stumbled back, startled at being on the receiving end of a gun barrel. Keiji smirked and pulled the trigger.  
  
Ren was the first to react, laughing as Keiji tossed the gun to him. "I'd like to keep that too, Ren-san. I'll see if he's got extra rounds in his robes later."  
  
The youkai around him began to laugh as well, as much at his deception as the glib comment that followed, and Ren grinned as he bowed. The unfortunate butt of Keiji's joke made to dive for him, but was grabbed back by some of his better-natured brethren. The laughter abated as Keiji approached the man, and the silence was taken as a cue.  
  
"If I'd had more rounds, I sure as hell wouldn't be here," the man sneered, eyes locked upon Keiji. His baritone voice was low, but meant to be heard by all who would listen.  
  
"Mm. He speaks." Keiji stood over the man and met his glare. Those eyes were disturbing in their utter lack of terror, in their infinite patience and safety in the knowledge that retribution would come. "That's good," Keiji said, trying not to break the lock and expose any weakness. This broken body was somehow more intimidating for the promises that it held. "I have questions for you."  
  
Jiro shifted uncomfortably. "Keiji-dono..."  
  
"I'll do the asking, Jiro-san. It will take quite a while to pack up and return to the base, we may be followed, and he may die before we reach home. If he survives that long, he may die in the process of inquisition." He raised his voice and looked at those around him. "If no one objects. I find it comfortable out here." 'And I don't want to spend another damn' day riding another damn' horse!'  
  
Keiji grinned when no argument arose and turned again to the man at his feet. "I doubt they expected that, so you might just have to wait here until some quarters are built for you."  
  
The man spat at his feet, not deigning to reply. Before the murmuring could start, Keiji delivered a blow to the side of his head so hard the man blacked out.  
  
"Lash him to a tree," Keiji ordered, glaring at the form below him. "But no one touch him until he's got a cage, and then dump him in it." Keiji strode away, massaging life back into his stinging hand, and found himself mildly gratified when Ren snapped for the youkai to comply. 


	5. Kayo

A/N: Sorry that took a while, by my standards. School 'n' junk, you know. ^.^ Thank you for being patient.  
  
Yes, this is another Keiji-centric chapter, but I enjoyed writing it and I think it'll be my last indulgence for a while. The rest will focus mainly on the Sanzo-ikkou, in their various states of distress. But I think you'll enjoy this one, if only for the last three paragraphs or so. Ehee.  
  
Quick recap: Hoshimura Keiji = hanyou pack lord; Tokuzen Kozue = pureblood pack lord; Akagawa Jiro = Keiji's second in command; Higurawa Ren = endearing loudmouth (I swear!) - just 'cause I can pull those names straight from my head doesn't mean I expect you to ^.-  
  
Happy readage ^.^  
  
***  
  
Keiji collapsed onto the pile of furs designated as his bed. His raw thighs ached to high heaven, screaming in protest whenever they came in contact with the fabric of his pants. He hoped the slight limp he had developed was taken for an empowered swagger. Worse, though, was the quirk his hands had so recently developed of running nervously over the rings in his ears. And the fresh holes stung at the pressure.  
  
He lay back and closed his eyes, forcing himself not to pull at his earlobes.  
  
The look on that monk mirrored the look in the crowd's eyes. Utter contempt focused solely upon him, held at bay only by his bravado. And, in the monk's case, severe hemorrhaging. He'd lost his grip out there, slapping the man just to shut him up. Before a chink in his veneer could form. Before his supposed followers could murmur and start rumors and act upon the impulse to revolt. Before he gave -them- proof hanyou were sublevel.   
  
He winced, realizing he had dug his nails into the burning hole in his right ear in his frustration. Strong fingers, surely, with sturdy, hard nails. But not claws. Keen hearing, surely, with a serviceable, rounded shell around the canal. But not pointed. Honed senses, surely, with a hunter's spirit. But not quite ravenous enough. Enough to be shunned in the ningen realm, too little to find a place among youkai.  
  
Keiji often found humor in the phrase, 'a happy median.'  
  
He did not sleep but rather drifted away from thought as was a habit. Whenever the beatings were too thorough for consciousness but not harsh enough yet to bring about mindless savagery, he dropped from himself into the welcome emptiness. No sight, no voice, no mind. No memory.  
  
"Oi, hanyou, get the hell -up-!" someone called, growling. Out of instinct, Keiji rolled to avoid the inevitable kick, startled into reality. "Tryin' to fucking slack off?" The voice was familiar, the harsh tone familiar. The circumstances were muddled, but Keiji had seen them before.  
  
Adrenaline ebbed as the blows did not come. He scrambled to his feet, murmuring muzzily, "Iie," before stumbling to his knees.  
  
Before his face hit the ground, he was caught. "Daijoubu, Keiji-dono?" Ren asked softly.  
  
Keiji shoved him away, trying to conceal his humiliation and a gut-wrenching twist of betrayal. "I...I should kill you."  
  
"Hai, Keiji-dono. But please be glad it was me and no one else. If someone meaning to hurt you knew of a lapse, Keiji-dono, you'd be annihilated."  
  
Keiji realized he was in a highly undignified position, kneeling startled on all fours, and righted himself into a sitting position. It just wasn't worth it to stand. "That...that as it may be, Ren-san...I still ought to kill you." He put a hand to his forehead, pressing hard against the throbbing in his sinuses. And then, "Why?"  
  
"Why what, Keiji-dono?" He received a furious, bloody glare, and started with the obvious. "You're weak, unstable, and still a slave, Keiji-dono." He tapped his forehead. "Here. You don't know how to do this. As to why I did that, I had to prove it to you, the only way I figured the point would ram home. And finally, Keiji-dono, I'm helping because Jiro-san was assigned to you by Hoshimura-dono. Where Jiro-san goes, I go; what Jiro-san needs, I give. And he needs you to be as stable as Kozue-dono, hanyou or not." Ren appeared satisfied with his speech, and added, "You may kill me now, Keiji-dono. If it so pleases."  
  
Keiji frowned. "Ren-san, I was willing to let everything slide in the face of your obvious loyalties, but that last part was far above your station, pureblood or not. Help me up."  
  
Ren held out an arm and Keiji grasped it, hauling himself to his feet. "I find myself in need of you, though," Keiji murmured. "I know you'll agree to aiding me, but know that gives you no special privilege. Speak honestly, Ren-san, but not sarcastically." Ren nodded, suppressing a grin. Keiji pretended not to have seen. "And kill anyone that acts even -remotely- like you."  
  
"Hai, Keiji-dono." Ren shifted. "Do you wish to go to the monk or inspect his belongings, Keiji-dono?"  
  
Keiji glanced over his shoulder at the mound of fabric. The empty gun lay beside it, shining dully in filtered afternoon light. "He can wait. I'm going hunting for some food and then..."  
  
Ren held up a hand. "Iie, Keiji-dono."  
  
Keiji blinked, then realization dawned. "Ren-san," he said softly, "we must talk further about...about my new parameters."  
  
*  
  
The two tromped down to the makeshift pen that had been hastily erected under Jiro's watchful eye. There stood two tents, one of which housed the cage. Ren led the way, but only by half a step in order to carry on a comfortable conversation. "Before Yasuo-dono died, he collected things."  
  
Keiji raised an eyebrow, glancing up to Ren's unreadable visage. He was caught between asking for clarification on 'died' or on 'things.'  
  
Ren chose for him. "He liked to torture any ningen prisoners that he took in, Keiji-dono. Most instruments were taken later on, but there are still a few things around. Some think they're lucky, but superstition is a funny thing."  
  
Keiji chewed the inside of his lip. He -had- chosen to question the monk himself, but had only thought of the ends, bypassing the means entirely. "Taken."  
  
"For use within the main camp, of course," Ren elaborated with a wry smile. "Yasuo-dono was good at getting information and pleasing a crowd at the same time."  
  
"I didn't know that."  
  
"By all means, you shouldn't, Keiji-dono. No one tells..." Ren trailed off, having theatrically bitten his tongue.  
  
Keiji glared up at Ren. "Don't hide what I am from me, Ren-san. I'll get it back in insults a hundred fold later on anyway."  
  
Ren frowned at having his only attempt at tact shot down, but continued at the threat of further angering Keiji. "Word does not often get down to slaves unless it is heard in threat. Jiro-san always worked under Kozue-dono, and worked himself up to third in the rank. I was an underling for Yasuo-dono that got transferred as a sadistic gift because of my mouth. I talked too much and Yasuo-dono wanted to give Kozue-dono hell."  
  
Keiji snorted. "I refuse to comment."  
  
Ren grinned and lifted the flap to the first tent. "Do you want me to wait outside, Keiji-dono?"  
  
"Set up a normal guard, Ren-san. Nothing special. I doubt he'll run."  
  
Ren nodded and Keiji turned his attention inside.  
  
The tent itself was held up by three poles down the center, sturdy and set into the ground. The pen was set up around the center pole, and to that pole the ningen was tied. Keiji watched as he pushed himself to his knees and began ramming his right shoulder into the solid wood of the pole. A little groan escaped the monk's mouth at the first impact, but he repeated the motion until an audible pop sent his forehead to the ground. He lay, panting, spitting straw-colored hair away as it clung to his lips.  
  
"Kuso," he muttered, heaving himself upright again and leaning against the center pole for support.  
  
"If you'd done that against the bars you may be out by now," Keiji murmured, not so much alerting the monk of his presence but forcing him to acknowledge it. Just meeting the gaze saturated with sarcasm and hate sent Keiji's fingers twitching. Those eyes embodied every youkai that had beaten him, every name he had suffered, every mocking endearment his mother lavished upon him, every underling just itching to jump for his jugular if only to rid themselves of a hanyou leader. Just looking at him -hurt- with the beauty and inarguable superiority that face exuded. Keiji wondered at ever regretting having slapped such a face. He wanted to do it again and again, oh yes, again! He wanted to pummel the monk into the ground, to beat him into a whimpering pulp, to tear his soul to shreds until his perfect, blue-violet eyes were red as rubies, bloody as his own.  
  
And the pale, purple-yellow body trembled against the only support it had, exhausted with even breathing and unable to help anticipating what was to come. Because, even though his captor's manner was remarkably genteel, the bloody mind, red eyes locked upon him were under no semblance of control. 


	6. Goaded

A/N: Sorry it took so long. But school comes first and I had a time-consuming literary analysis paper to write. But I'm back with an update and more will come very soon, I promise! Let's see how Gojyo, Hakkai, and Goku are doing, shall we?  
  
***  
  
Gojyo tugged gently at the belt between Hakkai's teeth. "Let go; it's over." He pulled again and found no give. Hakkai's eyes locked on his, glazed and empty. Gojyo frowned and pushed down on Hakkai's chin with his thumb. As soon as he got the man's jaw to move, his mouth hung open, exhausted. The belt at least prevented him from biting his tongue off, but the marks in it definitely set the value of the leather back. Hakkai, at that moment, was useless.  
  
Goku fidgeted. "He's out. You said he'd help."  
  
Gojyo found the ire building within him at the accusatory tone. "Yeah, I did."  
  
Goku looked down to the body on the ground, the man slowly trying to regain his scattered wits in the face of screaming pain in his arm and other superficial injuries. "Not helping!"  
  
Gojyo stepped between him and Hakkai, fists twitching at his sides. "What do you expect of him?" There was a minor crash as Jiipu became Hakuryuu and left the supplies to curl protectively about his master's neck. Hakuryuu trembled at the tension.  
  
The golden-eyed boy shook with frustrated rage and swung to break bone, connecting heavily with Gojyo's jaw.  
  
Gojyo couldn't deny the exhilaration of beating up on his partner. He built the fray with his own offense, punching so hard his knuckles ached. Goku roared and rained blows down upon his stomach, his ribs, stunning Gojyo long enough to send another brain rattling blow to his head. In this, a bloodstained battleground littered with the cooling bodies of disemboweled, decapitated youkai, the brawl was welcome. They attacked mercilessly, bruising and bleeding, wrestling each other to the ground and fighting with elbows, knees, teeth.  
  
Gojyo's head hit a stone with a loud crack, blurring his vision. Goku straddled him, his shaking fist raised to deliver another blow. And as their eyes met, they stopped, chests heaving. Gojyo snaked his tongue out to probe at a tear at the corner of his mouth. Goku scrambled off of Gojyo, lowering his fist and staring at the kappa. Both backed away, wary and guilty.  
  
Gojyo slumped, rubbing the back of his head and willing the dizziness away. "If I were Hakkai, would you have done it?" he asked, words slurring only slightly.  
  
Goku stared at him, appalled at the effrontery of the question and more so at the answer that rose unbidden to his throat.  
  
A soft voice broke the heavy silence. "Are you done?"  
  
"Hakkai!" Goku cried, scrambling to his side. "How's your arm?" he asked, obviously relieved at the coherency Hakkai regained.  
  
Hakkai glanced down to the mess of strips of backup clothing. Imbedded in the wrappings were a few stripped sticks to serve as splints. "I'll heal," he murmured in response, not cognizant enough to bring a smile to his features. Hakuryuu cooed mournfully, nuzzling his head beneath Hakkai's chin.  
  
Gojyo ambled over, taking his time as much to pretend the brawl had never happened as to regain his bearings until the throbbing in the back of his head dulled. He was nauseous, but didn't mention it. Hakkai didn't look like he was in the right shape to heal anything serious, let alone minor bumps and bruises.  
  
"Sanzo's gone, isn't he?" Hakkai murmured, his good hand reaching up to stroke Hakuryuu's back.  
  
Goku's relieved expression dissolved as he nodded.  
  
"After they got him they left. Didn't want anything to do with us," Gojyo added, kneeling beside Goku in the sense that they were on the same side of Hakkai. "The saru can still find the camp, can't you?"  
  
Goku nodded emphatically, so that a droplet of blood from the corner of his nose came free and hit Gojyo's arm.  
  
Hakkai managed a small smile. "Careful, Goku."  
  
"So can we go?" Goku leaned over Hakkai with expectant eyes, waiting for the approval he was sure would come.  
  
"How many youkai were there?" Hakkai asked, ignoring Goku and looking to Gojyo for answers.  
  
"Hundreds? Maybe more." Gojyo had to work to keep himself articulate. The sun glinting off of the shattered monocle in the dirt a few feet away was almost blinding. He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.  
  
"I'm in no shape to go. And Gojyo..."  
  
Goku turned to Gojyo. "What about him?" He cocked his head with a frown, ready to jump down Gojyo's throat for holding him back if need be.  
  
"Gojyo, there's something wrong."  
  
Gojyo managed a grin and shook his head. "Bad...idea..." he muttered as his temples began to pound. The injury to the back of his head had nothing on this sudden constriction of his skull. "Hit my head on a rock 'n I'm dizzy but I'm fine," he said, rubbing his forehead. "Really."  
  
"Concussion," Hakkai stated simply, sighing. Exasperated annoyance crept into his tone as he turned to Goku. "Did you really have to fight?"  
  
Goku had the decency to look abashed. His eyes widened. "Someone's coming. Lots of 'em."  
  
"Hakuryuu," Hakkai murmured, nudging the dragon. It chirped and grew back into Jiipu, ready and waiting for a getaway. "We can't fight, not like this."  
  
"I can!" Goku replied, looking hurt.  
  
"And protect me and Gojyo?" Hakkai closed his eyes. It hurt too much to talk him down, but the adrenaline in his system dulled the pain in his limbs just enough. "Load Jiipu. Gojyo, get in."  
  
"What about you?" Goku asked, already on his way to pick up the supplies.  
  
"Gojyo, put me in back."  
  
Gojyo blinked rapidly and stared slack-jawed at Hakkai. "You want me to lift you? Like that? And who'll drive?"  
  
Hakkai frowned, and an edge developed to his words when he spoke again. "Put me in the driver's seat then."  
  
Dumbfounded, Gojyo complied, shifting Hakkai into his arms as gently as possible, trying not to stumble at the sudden vertigo he got in standing. When the green-eyed man was deposited behind the wheel, he climbed into the back, laying down and rubbing at his forehead.  
  
Without complaint, Goku took Sanzo's seat.  
  
Hakkai gritted his teeth at the sudden change in gravity's effect upon his arm. Shoddy though the wrappings were, his attendants had been zealous and enough cloth secured his arm that it barely moved. But that little tug was enough. "Hold on." 


	7. Getaway

A/N: Feel like hearing an excuse? Here goes: As I was rereading the first chapters, I realized I really disliked the way the story was going. I stopped completely. And, after much reassessment and a bit of frustration, found a new direction in which to take the plot without altering any of the earlier chapters. So that's what took me so long. If you still feel like reading, gohead. ^.^ It's always appreciated  
  
Enjoy!  
  
***  
  
"Stop," Goku said, grabbing Hakkai's arm hard enough to bruise, then quickly released it as he realized he was wrenching a broken limb. "Stop," he repeated over Hakkai's pained groan. Hakkai risked a glance up at him and couldn't bring himself to argue. Spots were dancing in his peripheral vision from Goku's touch, and he needed a break from Jiipu's jostling as well. "There are more in front," Goku murmured, breathing deep. "Just stop and let me listen."  
  
Hakkai cut the engine and tried not to breathe loudly. He heard Goku's breaths, clipped and shallow as he smelled and listened with all of his concentration. He heard the gentle clinking of Jiipu's engine cooling. But he heard nothing from Gojyo.  
  
Green eyes widened in panic as he whirled to face the unconscious redhead. If he was concussed as Hakkai had guessed, this was not a good time for him to be dreaming. Hakkai got to his knees backward in the driver's seat and shook Gojyo by the collar. Hard.  
  
"Muh?" the kappa groaned, eyes fluttering open and shutting just as suddenly. Hakkai shook him again, then clamped his hand over Gojyo's mouth.  
  
"Stay. Awake," he whispered, trying to calm his breathing so his words would be understood. "Focus on me." Gojyo's eyes rolled up, exposing swollen veins in the whites normally hidden by his eyelids. "Focus!" Hakkai hissed. And the redhead nodded, scarlet eyes locking upon his face.  
  
Goku gave an irritated grunt in warning at the two of them and whispered, "Another pack, but smells like they're kin to the others."  
  
"We can't go after them," Hakkai warned under his breath. "Save ourselves before going for Sanzo, Goku, remember that."  
  
Goku growled deep in his throat, but nodded. He closed his eyes, held his breath, strained with all his senses. Golden eyes snapped open. "They found a monocle and they can smell the blood trail. Hakkai, drive!"  
  
"Get in back with Gojyo - keep him awake. What way?"  
  
"That way!" Goku hissed, pointing fervently as he dove into the backseat. Hakkai nodded and Jiipu roared to life as he sped off into the undergrowth.  
  
*  
  
If 'regal' was an adjective that could be applied to youkai, this would be the antithesis. But he was exemplary by the standards of relativity. He tossed his fine mane of rats and mossy tangles so the bones entwined in the knots beat against his brow. "They have the blood of youkai on them," he snarled, crushing the shattered glass of the monocle so it clung like fine snow in the cuts it made on his palm. "Our bretheren! In the face of this slaughter Hoshimura Keiji was unable to defeat them, but we...we will deliver ultimate retribution!"  
  
In unison, a thousand voices cried, "Hai, Kozue-dono!"  
  
*  
  
"Goku!" Hakkai cried, glancing back in the rearview mirror to see the saru shaking Gojyo violently enough to knock the kappa's head off. "Gently! You'll knock him out again."  
  
Goku nodded sheepishly and pulled Gojyo upright, patting his face. "You okay?"  
  
"Fine," Gojyo slurred, blinking slowly. He put his head on Goku's shoulder. "Why's everythin' bumpy?"  
  
"Hakkai's driving. We're getting out of here," Goku explained, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. Out of there was the last place he wanted to be. He wanted, no, -needed- to find Sanzo, to touch him, to utterly destroy anyone that had brought him harm. Goku had the fleeting fantasy of Sanzo's chains dissolving at his touch, the reverse of a memory that still brought warmth to the pit of his stomach.  
  
Gojyo draped and arm around Goku, pressing down on the saru's chest. "'S good. 'S good. Hard to sleep when 's bumpy..."  
  
Goku peeled the kappa off of him and cried out when Hakkai hit a particularly large bump, sending him flying. Goku managed to land alright, but Gojyo careened into the passenger's seat, losing his breath at the impact. He couldn't get himself to sit up, so disoriented and sore had he become.  
  
"Goku! Hold him," Hakkai ordered, gritting his teeth against the pain the impact had caused him. His entire arm was nothing more than a dull, aching extension until it moved, and then Hakkai became acutely aware of every cell he possessed from shoulder to fingertips. "Turning!" he added, wrenching the wheel to avoid a grove of trees too thick to maneuver through.  
  
Goku grabbed Gojyo under his arms, hoisted him upright, and shook him. "'M up! Baka...saru," Gojyo groaned.   
  
"How long is he gonna be like this?" Goku whined, unable to help himself.  
  
Hakkai yelled, "Until I can heal him! Otherwise we'll have to wait it out." He swerved to miss a boulder and parked behind it. "Have we given ourselves a little time?"  
  
Goku looked back. "We're downwind, that much I'm sure of. But we left tire tracks, too."  
  
Hakkai shook his head. "I've got to do something about Gojyo."  
  
Goku stared at him, slack-jawed. He said, "If you've got to. I'm going to be lookout."  
  
"If you hear -anything-, you tell me." Hakkai took Gojyo from Goku and looked down into his bleary eyes.  
  
"Hey, beau'fl," Gojyo murmured. His eyes closed again and Hakkai put a cold, sweat-slicked hand on his forehead. He baited Gojyo's energies with his own, lured them to the surface to heal the damage that had been wrought. At the end of it, Hakkai shook with exertion and Gojyo healed himself. Goku hadn't twitched a muscle, so uncharacteristically alert that Hakkai knew he was stretched as tense as he could get before the snapping point. A tense Goku was dangerous, so dangerous, but Hakkai placed his trust in the boy out of need. He breathed deeply, lowering his head to Gojyo's chest, trying not to collapse.  
  
At the pressure of Hakkai's head, Gojyo's eyes opened. He swore softly. "You shouldn't have done that," he murmured, bringing a hand up to pat Hakkai's back.  
  
"You would have died," Hakkai whispered back, wincing as his exhaustion led to a bone-deep sort of soreness curable by nothing short of half an hour's catatonic drowsing in a good, hot bath.  
  
"Would not," Gojyo replied, his patting turning to petting, like soothing a trembling animal.  
  
"You were delirious. Concussed. Called me beautiful." Hakkai forced enough strength to his muscles to allow him to sit up. Gojyo carefully schooled his features. "If you'd lost consciousness," Hakkai continued, "You would have died, hanyou or none." Hakkai sat back, making the mistake of leaning heavily on his broken arm. Gojyo caught the gasp of pain and bolted upright.  
  
"Baka!" he hissed, pulling Hakkai back up. "Look what you've done!"  
  
"Shut up down there," Goku said from atop the boulder that was their shelter. Gojyo's head snapped up. "I need to be able to hear."  
  
Hakkai nodded and readjusted himself so he could lean on the backside of the driver's seat. The convex nature of the seat was comfortable for the driver, but hell for anyone trying to lean against the back of it. Hakkai sighed, rested his chin on his chest, and willed his arm to just throb dully instead of screaming.  
  
"Baka," Gojyo muttered, pulling Hakkai to him and letting the exhausted brunette lean against his chest. "Just don't fall asleep, or I'll shake you."  
  
Hakkai had to smile. Being like this with Gojyo was not like the embrace of a lover. He leaned into the kappa, listening to his breathing only because it filled his ears, smelling him only because he breathed the air that had soaked him in. Even after a few days without a smoke, Gojyo managed to smell of cigarettes. Gojyo didn't touch him except for the expanse of skin Hakkai leaned upon. Both his arms were locked behind his back, propping him up. He didn't even lean his face into the fine softness of Hakkai's hair. He didn't need to touch Hakkai to know he was there, to know what he felt like. Hakkai himself would let him know if something was wrong.  
  
Goku glanced down at them and frowned, running his tongue over his teeth. He knew they were both spent, lacking any sort of will to move, but it looked as if they were -enjoying- the relaxation. When -Sanzo- was in trouble! He could smell the youkai pack from far off, and had already familiarized himself with the stench. Under the grime and sweat, they smelled the same as the pack that had attacked him earlier. He was itching for some justice, to beat something senseless. Worse, because their pace had slowed, Goku came to realize it was far past midday and he hadn't even gotten the chance to eat breakfast. He was absolutely -ravenous- once his body let him realize it.  
  
This was most definitely not a good day. 


	8. k

A/N: I'm pounding this out as fast as I'm comfortable with - going to Sacramento the day after Christmas and won't be near a computer for about a week. What was the change in plot, you ask? It was actually pretty minor, blatant as it gets. Cornerstone originally meant the foundations of the Sanzo-ikkou, how they functioned as a group. I was going to tear them down, utterly destroying certain bonds between them. But I just couldn't decide how to do it, couldn't bring myself to do it. That's the problem with loving the fandom for which you write ^.^ Nihilism is cool as long as you're TOTALLY nihilistic. I prefer smaller doses. So instead, Cornerstone takes a look into triggers. One was explored a while back when Goku lashed out at Gojyo. Another one is exploited here, and the buildup has been long but hopefully this is worth it.  
  
k Mute (phon.) A letter which represents no sound; a silent letter  
  
Enjoy.  
  
***  
  
"Let's start easy," Keiji murmured, entwining his hands in the bars of the makeshift cage. "You are?"  
  
The man took a deep breath and, eyes locked upon Keiji, recited, "The thirteenth Genjo Sanzo Houshii, heir and keeper of the Maten and Seiten Scriptures, and the biggest pain in the ass since you last bent over."  
  
"Cute." Keiji grinned, his eyes widening. His grin twitched at the corners. Sanzo could see every last tooth in his head. "Know what I am?"  
  
"Halfbreed scum," came the reply. Violent, inviolate, violet eyes unflinchingly stared into his, daring Keiji to deny the second part of his statement.   
  
Keiji's grin did not falter. "Do you enjoy taunting me? If I recall correctly, I'm not the one chained to a pole."  
  
Sanzo turned his head to the side, spat, and snarled, "Fuck off." He didn't wince when Keiji broke down the wall of the pen with a grunt. The thing was constructed so hastily, so shoddily that Sanzo himself could have done it had he not been chained down. The hanyou stood before him, his knees at level with Sanzo's chin. And sharply lashed out, kicking hard enough to break the ribs that had not been shattered earlier and fold the man in half. This in turn sent Sanzo's nose crashing into Keiji's knee with a sickening crunch.   
  
Blood oozed slowly onto Sanzo's lips as he breathed heavily through his mouth. "Don't be so loose with invitations, Houshii-sama," Keiji admonished, wiping his pants. "I might take you up on it next time."  
  
He backed away and let the blonde catch his breath. Tears of pain had gathered in the corners of his eyes at having his nose broken, and they fell as he closed his eyes, focusing on breathing. When he looked up again, his bruised shoulders were hunched, his chest heaved, and his jaw hung slack. But the glare was as steadfast and condescending as ever. Keiji's palms itched to fold into fists.  
  
He forced the impulse away for the moment, instead saying, "I'm supposing that's the last information you'll freely give." He crouched, coming down to eye-level with that vicious, gorgeous face. "'Course, I can't abide by that."  
  
*  
  
Sanzo knew the look in the scarlet eyes lowered to his level. Badly-veiled fury, utter madness. Not the sort of mindless madness that came from Gyumaoh's rising. Not the loss of self, of conscience, of empathy. This was the sort of madness bred from oppression, from the circumstances that could bring greatness if the insanity is overcome. This was not the first time Sanzo found himself the trigger for the utter defeat of something incredible, and through his contempt for the battle itself he could no longer bring himself to care.  
  
Damn, but those youkai had been thorough. Sanzo ran through a mental check, just to make sure all of his limbs were still, at best, attached and functional. Yes, everything was there, because everything hurt. It took all of his willpower not to tremble before the inept hanyou because it would be taken for weakness and fear. He had lost blood, he didn't know how much, to hemorrhaging, not to mention the few cuts and scrapes he received. He hadn't eaten since the night before, and he'd given half of his food to the saru then. And, though his throat was so dry the skin clung to itself, his back teeth were floating.  
  
The explosion of white dots that had been the crunching of his nose died a bit, and the searing pain dissipated to the same sort of dull ache that enveloped his body. He breathed open-mouthed against the fragments of his ribs and twisted his arm, fervently wishing he could pull the limb around front. His shoulder had been dislocated, and having been chained by his arms, he could not be sure he'd slammed it in all the way. Once he found he'd been watched, however, there was no way in hell he'd continue to try.  
  
It was this rationale that kept him silent as Keiji rained blows upon his shoulders, his gut. He would not give his captor the satisfaction of breaking him, of having him acknowledge his pain. Sanzo bit his lip hard enough to tear it as the punches became harder, pulverizing his already battered insides. Under the pressure, his skin tore away from his lip at the same time an invisible seam ripped along his side. Blood spilled out, soaking and staining the leather of his shirt, dying the rest of his robes, seeping through to the blue jeans underneath.   
  
This hanyou was no expert inquisitor. He used none of the lovingly-crafted tools Sanzo had seen being brought into a separate tent. He had no finesse, no brilliance to romanticize his madness. He merely had anger, some driving force behind his brutality that had nothing at all to do with Sanzo except whatever triggered the tirade. To top it off, while he had the sense to leave Sanzo's jaw intact, he was inept at phrasing an effective question.  
  
"Tell me what I want to know and I'll kill you before your body gives out on its own," he said. And was naive enough to be appalled when Sanzo's split lips curved into a bloody, vicious smile. 


	9. Griping

A/N: Oh, I left quite the cliff for Keiji to hang off of last chapter, didn't I? Sorry, you'll have to wait some more. ^.^ The rest of the boys have problems of their own, it appears...  
  
Enjoy  
  
***  
  
Goku looked about him for the millionth time, straining to catch any change in nuance of the scents and sounds with which he was becoming painfully familiar. Goaded mainly by his stomach, he called down, "We should be okay for a while. Let's eat something."  
  
Gojyo was still slightly nauseous, but through that came deep hunger and the first brilliant tendrils of what would later be a spectacular nicotine fit. He looked down to the crown of Hakkai's head, realizing the brunette had fallen into a light doze just sitting with him. This was not the sleep of leisure, but more a forced time-out so his body could gather its wits and function properly. Adrenaline had ebbed long before, and after healing Gojyo, the strain had overtaken him. He slipped slowly down and off of Gojyo, friction lost in the limpness of his muscles. Gojyo wrapped an arm around Hakkai, unable to let him down gently and instead holding him up, trying not to awaken him. A glance upward showed Goku climbing slowly down from his perch.  
  
"Hakkai's out," said Gojyo. "Is his arm the only thing broken?"  
  
Goku shrugged and tore into a box he knew had preserves inside. "It was all he let on about." He wrinkled his nose in disgust, crying, "There's only enough for one meal in here!"  
  
Gojyo frowned. "I seem to remember a certain saru stuffing his face with his portion and most of the monk's last night. And every meal prior." He looked down to Hakkai and back up into Goku's angry eyes. "Dunno how long it'll be until we're out of here, or to a town, or anything like that for supplies. Especially if you want to go back and get Sanzo." The look on the boy's face more than evidenced that fact. Goku warred with himself for a moment, setting his age-fortified hunger against a similarly strengthened loyalty to and love for Sanzo. In the end, the most passionate argument forced Goku to break off only a handful of jerky and split it with Gojyo.  
  
The redhead shifted his grip on Hakkai to eat and the brunette gasped, eyes snapping open. "Dumbass! You moved his arm!" Goku snarled around a mouthful. He looked down and cried, "You okay, Hakkai?"  
  
Hakkai took more than the usual split-second to focus on Goku's face, eyes darting between the boy and the man that currently held him. As he realized who, how, where he was, his features settled into their automatic smile. "I thought you were just going to shake me, Gojyo," he murmured, looking up into the scarlet eyes. He reached up and batted Gojyo's hair out of his face so the ends of it wouldn't stick to the sweat on his forehead and the wetness of his mouth.  
  
The redhead grinned and pulled his hair back with his free hand, keeping it out of his view of Hakkai. For just an instant in the afternoon sun, their position lent to an illusion of Hakkai having red hair. Gojyo instantly hated the look of it. "I did," he tried to joke. "Didn't work, so I had to improvise."  
  
"Want some food?" Goku asked, sticking to what he knew to comfort his friend.  
  
"Water?" Hakkai asked. Goku's head disappeared among the supplies further back, obligingly digging until he came up with a canteen. He handed it to Hakkai, who opened the bottle with his teeth, spat the cap away in a most undignified manner, and poured it into his mouth. He only took a little at first, swallowing like the movement came hard to him, then drank a bit more.  
  
"We've got a lot," Goku said softly. Hakkai shook his head, wincing at the movement.  
  
"Drink some, both of you. If I drink too much I'll get sick."  
  
Gojyo snorted. "Water, not beer." But he took the canteen from Hakkai's hand, tipped his head back, and obliged, one rivulet escaping his lips and running down his face. He ate while Goku drank, replaced the cap, and sat in back next to Hakkai. In truth, his shoulder was nearly pressed against Gojyo, but in spirit Goku was sitting with Hakkai.  
  
"Help me sit," Hakkai said softly, putting his hand down to steady himself and finding Gojyo wherever his fingers tried to land. Gojyo and Goku gently maneuvered him upright, and, by degrees, again into the driver's seat. They did not question him, because even his acknowledgement of his inability to sit upright unaided was a blow. Neither could bring themselves to jab Hakkai so cruelly as to ask him if he required assistance in driving. If he was sure he could make it.   
  
Goku scrambled back up the boulder and frowned. "They haven't moved," he said. "I don't smell them any closer."  
  
"Then we'll go around the long way."  
  
Goku dove down with a huge grin on his face. "For Sanzo?"  
  
Hakkai glanced at Goku, his smile never faltering. "Okay."  
  
*  
  
The mob of youkai was growing restless. Obvious scent trails and tire tracks were fading into obscurity with every passing moment and their fearless leader had yet to give the signal for them to move out. Some fought among themselves as mounted tension found no release. Others, those more intellectual, spoke of jumping the gun, of following the trail while it was still relatively fresh.  
  
Tokuzen Kozue, the leader himself, was growing restless. But the last time a tirade of retribution had been triggered at his command, the fiasco had nearly led to his beheading. He owed much to Hoshimura Kaida for speaking on his behalf and did not wish to anger her by beating her mongrel son to the point, so to speak. He had sent a messenger to Keiji's camp to see if the hanyou leader had any plans to go after the remaining three of the party he had attacked.   
  
In hindsight, Kozue decided, he probably shouldn't have excited his men without getting the go-ahead. He could hear the frustrated brawls, the grunting and misdirected blows, and it angered him. He felt no remorse about his words, of course, but in the lack of restraint in his fighters. 'Then again,' he thought with a grin that could split hairs, 'that's what makes them real warriors.'  
  
As a messenger sped back from Keiji's camp, one word on his lips, a group of mutineers crept away from the crowd with gleeful murder burning through their minds. 


	10. Knowledge

A/N: Hello, here I am. It's been good to be back at my computer. ^.^   
  
I must say, the overwhelming suggestion in my reviews has been "abuse Sanzo." Enjoy this while it lasts. For some reason, I'm averse to killing him. ^.^ This chapter, while titled to be Keiji-centric, also focuses on Kozue and Kaida. Here, some of the plot is actually developed. Ha, ha, me with a plot. That's a good one. And also, because I can't help but love Keiji, there's some guilt-tripping. Heh...  
  
"As I walk the voices behind me say / sinners sin / come now and play..." - Dave Matthews Band - "Spoon"  
  
Enjoy ^.^  
  
***  
  
"He grows impatient, Hoshimura-dono. He would much rather dispose of the prisoner on his own time. The scripture is main priority, lady." The messenger bowed and kept his shaggy head down, awaiting orders. Hoshimura Kaida's face remained impassive, though the sheen over her yellow-green eyes was definitely not to be misconstrued for glee.  
  
"Go to Kozue-san," she said softly. "Tell him to join with Keiji-kun and bring him here."  
  
The messenger nodded. "Hai, Hoshimura-dono."  
  
Kaida put her hand to her chin and thought to the message she had received earlier that day. "And," she murmured, "have him stop Keiji-kun's little inquisition. I would rather not anger our customer." She grinned as the messenger repeated his assent and bowed out of her presence. Another quickly took his place.  
  
"More?" she asked, understanding at once the expression on his face.  
  
"Hai, Hoshimura-dono. A hunting party that went out this morning is returning on the brink of madness. They do not recognize our sentries and they attacked a female."  
  
Kaida narrowed her eyes. "Execute them before they make it all the way in. Now."  
  
He grunted to his less articulate companions and they chorused, "Hai," before trotting out. The messenger bowed and backed away with more ceremony, but not much more.   
  
*  
  
Those chosen to be messengers are fleet of foot, sure of mouth, and reasonably sound in intellectual matters. Their abnormal auditory and cranial ability lends to a better-developed head. This in turn lends to a scrawny body, good for kowtows, clinging to a horse, and not much else. They learn to exhibit their skills early, or are killed. Thus, they are known for loquacious meekness, constantly fearful among larger brethren. But when among each other, their frustrations often explode. Because of this, they are chosen for their patience as well.  
  
The two horses nearly collided as they galloped full-tilt into Kozue's camp. The messengers snarled at each other, claws bared, until the smaller of the two noticed the three burn lines denoting the larger as a personal servant to Hoshimura Kaida. He backed down, but not without receiving a good swipe across the face from the other. This declared him victor without succumbing to something so trivial as a truce, and he spoke the overriding orders to the other, sending him away from his own camp to deliver yet another message to Keiji.  
  
As the exhausted horse sped away, spurred to a gallop by an instrument coated in cruel spikes, Kaida's messenger rode into Kozue's camp, coming unabashedly to the opening of his tent.  
  
Within the hour, orders were barked down to frustrated soldiers. They snarled in disappointment, swirling into a mob. They rushed over ruined tents, demanding some hunt, some slaughter to slake the bloodlust. Kozue's underlings tried to control the insurmountable wave of frustrated fury, but many were struggling with their own impulses. They had been promised a good, messy killing, a revenge that mattered nothing to them, and they were just as suddenly denied.  
  
Kozue heard the noise, knew its cause. He was livid at the thought of being unable to control his own troops, and stepped out into the scene, weapon in hand. It strongly resembled, of all things, a ningen tool called a pitchfork, but every one of its ten tines was coated in back-facing barbs to catch more flesh on the way out. The tines were arranged in two rows of three, and another four protruded from the end of the staff at ninety-degree angles. The other end of the staff was equipped with a blunt tip, suitable as either a walking stick or a handy instrument for shattering bone.  
  
Token Kozue was utterly silent aside from grunts of exertion as he disemboweled three youkai in successive thrusts. The mob then turned the fury of the group upon him, and recognized in that instant its fallen idol. Out of sheer shock, they stopped long enough for him to get words in. Had he waited an extra second to breathe, their anger at his audacity would have overcome any authority he had.  
  
And as words came, lacking false promises but at the same time dearth in any form of apology, the mob quieted, died, became just a group. They were not guilty, nor were they led to believe they were wrong. There was pride in the guttural voice of Kozue, and a spirit so like their own they forgot for the moment he was the one that mislead them. He spoke until he forgot his words, grunting for lack of ability to orate, and still able to make his meaning known.  
  
"We are better," he said at one point. "Our time comes later, when it is worthy of us."  
  
*  
  
"Smiling?" Keiji murmured, incredulous. His anger had boiled down to something controllable, but the blatant impertinence of his prisoner almost overrode his sense of dramatic timing.  
  
Slow and soft, but with the force of utter conviction, the monk bowed his blonde head and snarled, spitting blood as he spoke. "Go ahead and try. I'll kill you before you can manage it." He coughed harshly at the effort of speaking, leaving crimson spatters on Keiji's boots.  
  
The hanyou snorted, finding humor in the statement. The frail thing knelt in a veritable pool of his own blood, breathing against bruises upon bruises, turning blue at the hands. And yet he swore to kill his captor with no room for doubt. Defying him again, scorning him again. The monk raised his head to glare at him and he saw those beautiful, beautiful cold eyes still held nothing but the familiar contempt.  
  
"Prove it, stinking ningen," he growled, his vision tunneling in rage, all semblance of smiling nonchalance lost to wanting desperately to rip the life from the wretched thing before him. For the first time, he reached for the crude dagger in his belt and grinned at the poor substitute for the claws he would never be able to grow.  
  
The tent flap opened and Ren stepped inside. "Keiji-dono," he said softly.  
  
Keiji turned from his prisoner and snarled, "What?" before recognizing the youkai.  
  
Ren bowed his head. "A messenger came from Hoshimura-dono, with orders for you to stop what you're doing. She says you are to join with Kozue-dono and the lot of us are to return home. The prisoner is second priority to what he possesses." He wrinkled his nose. "Keiji-dono?"  
  
Keiji sheathed his dagger, slowly regaining his calm. "We'll go, then. Do you have a problem?" The last question came out harsher than Keiji had meant.  
  
"Do you mean to leave him alive?" Keiji glanced over his shoulder.  
  
A wash of guilt nearly knocked him from his feet at the carnage he had wrought. The ningen in him cringed against the youkai that had taken over. "Have someone...take him with us. I'll decide what to do with him later. If...if he lives."  
  
Ren nodded. "Hai, Keiji-dono." He left and, due to his characteristic refinement, began bellowing orders before the flap had even swung fully closed. Keiji crouched down, elbows on his knees, and rested his head on one hand. This was power. This was lordship, promotion, infallibility.  
  
He felt it tug at his mind, the undeniable thrill of beating down every painful experience, even if only in effigy. He would have killed Sanzo had he not been interrupted, because of his eyes.  
  
The monk. Keiji turned and knelt by him, smiling a little. "Hear that?"  
  
He did not respond, but glared at Keiji and spat a mouthful of blood and saliva gone nearly hard from dehydration. It hit the hanyou on the shoulder. The slap he received in retribution was half-hearted, weary, but infuriating nonetheless. Keiji could see the indignance at being slapped like a woman, scolded like a rebellious child.   
  
"Don't die just to spite me," he said, and rose. Already two youkai rushed to the tent, a cage on wheels between them.  
  
"He is not to be molested," Keiji ordered, and they bowed, cutting the body free and shoving it between the bars. As the carriage was wheeled away like the star attraction to a freak show, violet eyes fluttered, glazed, and closed. 


	11. Garnered

A/N: And here, my dears, is what has been happening to the other three boys.   
  
Quick anecdote: My spellcheck insists "Gojyo" is "goodie." Just found that humorous ^.^  
  
Anyway, enjoy this little bit - Gojyo's probably ooc, but I didn't want to deal with Seiten Taisei. Not now, at least. And so, without further adieu...  
  
Enjoy  
  
***  
  
Jiipu gave a shrill squeal and skidded to a halt. Goku's inertia nearly threw him over the windshield from his standing position in the passenger seat. Gojyo found himself bent precariously over the gearshift. As one, they looked to Hakkai.  
  
The man in question leaned his head back against the seat, staring at the sky. "I didn't see it," he whispered, choking on the words. He winced almost imperceptibly.  
  
Goku glanced back and the gigantic slick patch of ankle-deep mud and moss. He waited for a reassuring lie. "Hakkai? Are you okay?"  
  
He turned baleful green eyes on Goku, unable to muster even a small smile. Before he could speak, a scream heralded the entrance of six bloodthirsty youkai. Thick saliva bubbles frothed at the corners of the first one's mouth, literally drooling at the prospect of fulfilling what his brash leader had once promised. Goku had no time to summon the nyoi-bou, but deflected the attack with a kick, diving into the fray barehanded.  
  
Gojyo hauled himself up, whipped out the shaku-jou, and forced Hakkai to stay down. He braced the backs of his legs against the driver's seat and lashed out at the four that came at him. Their disemboweled corpses splattered in the mud, sinking with wet sucking sounds. Goku had finished before the shaku-jou's chain had completely retracted into the staff. The last youkai stood before him, snarling menacingly even in the face of two highly irritated opponents.  
  
"Wait," Hakkai called. "Ask him where he's from."  
  
Goku grabbed the youkai by the arm, wrenched it around its back, and said, "You heard him."  
  
His refusal to comply resulted in a pained groan as Goku pulled so hard an audible snap sounded. "I'll do it to the other arm. And your legs. And your face. Talk."  
  
Gojyo quirked an eyebrow, appalled but impressed, and glanced to Hakkai. The man was also a bit surprised at Goku's tactics, but reasoned that the incongruency of his savagery was directly linked to his desire to find Sanzo as soon as possible.  
  
The youkai spat a mouthful of blood, having bitten his tongue, and growled, "Camp not ten miles off."  
  
Hakkai saw Goku's face when he recognized what that meant. "Any prisoners?" Goku demanded, grabbing the youkai's other wrist as incentive.  
  
"Just one, but not ours." The youkai paused, and began to laugh. "Hey, he's yours, isn'e? I'll bet you miss him," he mocked. Goku's bright golden eyes darkened to amber, narrowing as his hands wrenched the youkai's neck until his capabilities mirrored those of an owl's. The skin at the collarbone tore away, blood flowing hot and rich over Goku's hands. He shook it from him, blinking and backing away from the tangled mess.  
  
He wiped his hands in the grass, bending slowly at the waist but not at the knees. Hakkai watched him for a moment before nudging a dumbfounded Gojyo and saying, "Well, let's get on with it, then."  
  
Goku climbed into Jiipu without another word.  
  
*  
  
Afternoon darkened into evening when Kozue heard word of Keiji entering his camp. He was hospitable, providing room for tents to be set up, participation in hunting parties, and the evening's entertainment.  
  
It was said later that the three idiots that burst into the camp had the air of purpose about them worn only by the kamikaze. One was already injured, and the other two, while excellent fighters, were no match for the sheer numbers that greeted them. They blamed the survival of the intruders on the strange soft side their leader had developed.  
  
The dead were roasted along with the fruits of the afternoon hunts, the prisoners were thrown into the inquisitorial tent, and the more intelligent youkai wondered if their esteemed Hoshimura-dono had anything in mind other than extension of the family name when she promoted the bastard hanyou. Tokuzen Kozue himself openly declared his dislike of Keiji's decision to leave them alive, but he held firm although he stood a good head shorter than his opponent. Had he been anyone other than Hoshimura Keiji, the redhead would have had his face bashed in and no mistake. And so, with curses toward lineage and fate in general, the youkai retreated for the night.  
  
*  
  
Gojyo saw him first. He had been struggling with his captor to the very end, kicking and lashing out, but he nearly died when his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He could no longer hear the grunts of the youkai holding Hakkai or Goku, could no longer feel the rough hold cutting off circulation to his arms from both elbows down. The bruised, bloody mess of a man was recognizable only for the thatch of brilliant gold hair, as yet unmarred, that held the colors of sunset long after the real one passed. The rest of him was mangled, held together only by his clothing.  
  
As soon as Gojyo's feet hit the ground, he stood in front of Goku, wrestling him to the ground, pressing his knees against Goku's shoulders and covering his mouth. Goku fought hard, struggling to get up, eyes darting toward where he knew Sanzo was and unable to see him. The six youkai that had been their escorts gave him an uneasy look, but left one torch in the tent and closed the flap. They had locked the four in a fortified, wooden cell, built with the purpose of providing captivity at great length.  
  
"Listen to me, saru," Gojyo cried, using all the force he could muster to keep Goku on the ground. The boy bucked, attempting to bite the hand Gojyo had over his mouth. "Listen to me!" Gojyo roared, putting his other hand over the first one and slamming Goku's head into the ground.  
  
"You'll see Sanzo soon enough! If you see him now you'll get in Hakkai's way, and that could make him worse. Understand?" Even after a direct blow to the back of the head, Goku's eyes were preternaturally sharp; angry dilated pupils trained on Gojyo's throat.  
  
"I'll let you up when he's done, I will," Gojyo said, not easing up for an instant. Goku snarled, bucked one more time, and seemed to settle down. His muscles did not tense for a sudden attack, but Gojyo refused to drop his guard. He remembered all too well what happened when the saru's love for Sanzo and his incomprehensible thirst for retribution caused his limiter to shatter. He had no desire to see the diadem leave Goku's head ever again.  
  
The signal came when Hakkai hit the ground.  
  
Gojyo rolled off of Goku, who jumped up and, without a second glance at the redhead, dashed to Sanzo's side. From what Gojyo could see, Hakkai had healed whatever internal wounds he could, leaving the surface scars to take care of themselves. Sanzo's nose twisted at an unnatural angle; heavy, dark bruises crept with the bloodstains from the hems of his leathers.  
  
The healer had collapsed, his eyes open but exhausted with two healings in one day, not to mention his own wounds. Gojyo went to his side, snapping his fingers in front of Hakkai's face and watching him flinch.  
  
"Come on," he said, pulling Hakkai into his arms and untwisting the legs that had been caught under him as he fell.  
  
"I...I got the ruptured organs. He's not bleeding inside, but his ribs are, at best, fractured yet. The shoulder you'll have to pop in yourself." Hakkai took a deep breath. "He's lost a lot of blood. I can't fix that either. In fact," he laughed a bit, "I can't do much of anything until I sleep for about two days." He closed his eyes and promptly lost consciousness, head lolling against Gojyo's shoulder.  
  
Gojyo laid him down in the dirt, unable to provide anything else, but kept him away from the blood-soaked ground around Sanzo. Then he cried, "No, bakasaru! You'll break it!"  
  
Goku glared at Gojyo, still bracing one hand against Sanzo's shoulder. "Hakkai said it's got to go back in."  
  
"Have you ever -done- it before?" Gojyo jeered. When Goku shook his head, Gojyo snorted. "Thought so. Let him go."  
  
Truth be told, Gojyo had never done it either. But, for some reason, he judged himself a better hand emotionally in this particular situation. No need to be overzealous. He felt around the joint and shuddered when his fingertips probed what was certainly out of place. When he shoved it back in, the pop was loud against the relative silence of the tent. Sanzo's body jerked, but his breathing remained shallow and steady.   
  
"Okay." Gojyo rubbed his fingers, unable to get the feeling of wrongness from tingling at the pads. "Now we see if he makes the night."  
  
Goku glared at him, looking hurt. "He'll make it."  
  
Gojyo sat back, propping his forearms on his knees. He was cold, thirsty, tired, and in desperate need of a cigarette. Despite the insurmountable aura of 'ornery' that surrounded him, Gojyo was far too frazzled to act upon his impulses.  
  
"Sure." He bowed his head and waited for sleep to stand him up.  
  
True to prediction, he spent the entire night awake, listening to Goku watching over Sanzo, knowing the look on his face without even looking up. It was safe to say that night was one of the least restful he had experienced in quite a while. 


	12. A Conversation

A/N: I finished "Cornerstone"...and promptly deleted it. I'm restarting from where I left off (geez, doesn't this sound familiar?) and that explains the second hiatus. Sorry I'm so capricious about this fic, but I just couldn't get my ducks in a row about it.  
  
This chapter's pretty short, sorry for that, but they'll get much longer when Sanzo awakens again. (Yeah, he's survived the night...)  
  
When you see the pronoun "Ou-san" I just kinda flubbed that - remember episode 9 where Gojyo addresses the mysterious (at that time) Dokugakuji as "ou-san"? Yeah, that's where I stole it - at this point, the addresser is unsure of the age of the addressee, and we all know Gojyo's got a minor complex about onii-san versus ojii-san. It didn't seem like him to venture a guess ^.^  
  
Enjoy  
  
***  
  
"Ohayo, ou-san."  
  
The greeting was enough to shatter the silence and scatter the thoughts so carefully garnered in the darkness. As the spectator stood silent, the voice continued.  
  
"We're staying in here out of the goodness of our hearts. Your hospitality's not the best. Waking me up before sunrise? Your damn' torch died before even midnight besides."  
  
Keiji spoke into the darkness, his eyes finally adjusting without the aid of stars and moon and imminent sunrise. "You can't see outside."  
  
"I can -feel- midnight, ou-san." The speaker was the redhead, the hanyou that had so deeply disturbed Keiji the first time they had locked eyes. He was the only one sitting, crouched over his knees and staring into the direction from which Keiji's voice had come. "Let's have a talk, you and I."  
  
"You want to bargain?"  
  
"To get to know you." The redhead cocked his head to the side, hair obscuring his face. Though, even to Keiji, it was hardly necessary in the pitch. His face was a mess of shadows no matter what. "We're brothers, ne? Someone said we were like twins." His voice held a note of teasing, of playful jibe completely incongruous to the circumstances. He smiled then, slow and easy, like he had all the time in the world to just chat.  
  
One of his companions groaned, soft and light, reaching up to probe at his own face. The redhead hissed softly to quiet him, putting out a hand and touching him. The gentle connection of hand to shoulder lasted only a split second, hardly enough to disturb the air around them, but it was enough. The man on the ground slowly relaxed every muscle, feigning tumultuous sleep and scratching at his shoulder. As if Keiji couldn't tell.  
  
"So, onii-san," the redhead continued in a tone meant to provoke. The name struck a chord not only of familiarity but it brought his similarity to Keiji into shocking relief. "This is a nice little shindig you've got. All yours?"  
  
Keiji stood silent, unsure of how to respond without killing or being killed. He didn't doubt the redhead at least could break free and kill him. And he was the only person he really cared for anyway, so Keiji didn't hold great stock in saving any other lives but his own.  
  
"I'm guessing, because you granted us our lives, ne? Tell me, was it your mother?" The redhead smiled. "It was my father. Come on, onii-san, open up."  
  
"Mother," Keiji found himself whispering, knowing not only the intention of the question but the truth behind its vagueness. He hated that he answered, hated all of them for knowing and flaunting it in their ways. The blonde Sanzo was still, comatose, and his eyelids were shut over his beautiful eyes. And yet violet was so much better than fury-red, fire-red. Keiji-red.  
  
"She's letting you live on her name. Isn't she. You're a mutt and they listen to you. She's got to scare the fuck out of them for you to be able to do that. Does she love you?"  
  
"I hate her." The words were out before Keiji could stop them, and he slammed his fists against the sturdy front of the pen. This thing, this mutt like him was making him talk. Without his consent, he was talking to someone who should...who should already understand.  
  
In the face of the onslaught, Keiji's brother, the man that called him onii-san only said, "Oh."  
  
But his fingers curled in the bloody dirt by his sides, ripping fingernails in the cold, packed earth.  
  
*  
  
"What?!"  
  
"It is illogical to keep them here," Keiji repeated, still quite calm in the face of the full bulk of Tokuzen Kozue. "It's too much work to feed and transport prisoners when we're not even supposed to keep them in the first place. Our employer wants them for himself, and so we let them go free."  
  
Kozue snarled, "No hanyou tells me what to do!"  
  
Keiji did not flinch. "But his mother can. The prisoners go free." 


	13. Grievances

A/N: Okay, couple this with last night's update and you'll get a good-sized bit of writing ^.^  
  
My main apology - Sanzo's still comatose. It'll change in a while, I promise, but I figured the end of this is one of the best teasers my plot could provide. Enjoy ^.^  
  
(FYI: It's been about a day since the last chapter, but Gojyo doesn't know that.)  
  
***  
  
"Gojyo..."  
  
"Sleep, you." Gojyo turned down to Hakkai and affected a look of disinterest. "You're fucked up something awful."  
  
Hakkai nodded, not about to argue the point. "Have we got water?"  
  
"Are you kidding?" Gojyo asked, snorting. He glanced around him. "We've got blood and dirt, a monkey, and a breathing corpse." He grinned and repeated his earlier edict. "Sleep. I'll take care of whatever goes down."  
  
Hakkai kept talking, smiling only slightly. "Did you sleep?"  
  
"Once the saru went out, I must have dozed a little. Because I woke up and had to check to see if either you or Sanzo were dead."  
  
"Were we?"  
  
Gojyo put his forehead on his knees. His head was pounding, his back teeth were floating, his eyes burned, and the smell of blood and shit seemed permanently ingrained in the back of his throat. He grunted in response to the question.  
  
Hakkai made no sound, but moved to sit up. His arm shook as it tried to support him and failed. Gojyo reached over and pushed him the rest of the way back to the ground. Once there, his hand did not leave Hakkai's chest, a forceful punctuation of his desire that Hakkai should sleep.  
  
"Stay down."  
  
Hakkai closed his eyes and Gojyo withdrew his hand without looking over. The heavy canvas of the tent let red light filter through as sunrise grew prominent. Thick like blood, it bathed the four in ghastly shades that lent monstrous touches to what once had been soft features. In that light Sanzo's mangled face was the stuff of nightmares. Gojyo could have faded away then, just disappeared after finally asserting his particular brand of camouflage.  
  
"He hates his mother," Hakkai murmured softly, almost inaudible over Gojyo's own breathing.  
  
Gojyo looked down and saw only an angelic visage from the collar up, gentle and serene in the numbness provided by exhaustion overpowering pain. One could almost ignore the ragged bandages over his left arm, the ghost-pale translucency of lips that once held color. "Yeah," said Gojyo. And he put his head on his knees, finally able to capture sleep at the time in which he most wanted to think.  
  
*  
  
Gojyo awoke with a start when he heard footsteps near him. With an effort of will, he pulled his head from his knees, uncurled, and let his eyes adjust to the light. The canvas let a reasonable amount of light into the tent; it tinted everything in shades of sick yellow but it was better than the red sunrise.  
  
Goku was walking around, one hand around his middle and the other presenting fingernails for his teeth to tear away. Gojyo hissed through his teeth, unable to further articulate his annoyance. Goku stopped biting his nails when he realized someone else was awake.  
  
"He's not up. Should I wake him up?"  
  
Gojyo took his sweet time unrolling himself, stretching legs that had been bent all night, arms that had become a headrest, a back that creaked from the unnatural position it had held for so long. His neck hurt worst, a thick, red pain pouring from jaw to shoulders every time he turned his head. He had sustained few bruises in the mad brawl, the shaku-jou being a long-range weapon, but his rough handling had gotten to his arms, and his muscles were laced taught and refused to relax. The cottonmouthed stuffiness of his head had yet to abate, and he still had an intense urge to relieve himself, even if it meant just using the dirt ground.  
  
"He's got to get some rest, Goku," Hakkai answered for him, his voice rough from dryness. "If you wake him up, you could make it worse."  
  
Gojyo looked over and saw Hakkai forcing himself to sit. The brunette propped himself up on his right arm, locking the elbow so he wouldn't fall. Gojyo grunted and rolled over to push himself up, stiff and sore, until he regained his feet. And oh, standing felt so good after sitting for so many conscious hours.  
  
Gojyo paced the cell, reaching out between the bars at one point and grazing the canvas tent with his fingertips. It was wet with the remnants of the morning's dew. He had no idea how long he'd slept.  
  
And then the canvas was whipped away.  
  
Gojyo nearly had the incredulous expletives he wanted to shout lined up in his brain when he laid eyes on the hanyou he'd come to mentally dub 'fearless leader.'  
  
Fearless was dwarfed by a full youkai that stood near him, fury blatant on his cruel features. He grunted and turned away, followed by two of the four other bystanders. His anger evidenced itself in his stride, both fast enough to be imperious and hard enough to rattle loose pebbles nearby. One of the remaining youkai, less refined than the other, grinned.  
  
"You are free to go," Fearless said, not watching his companion's retreat. "It is not my purpose to kill you."  
  
"The other guy looked pretty pissed about that," Gojyo said, grinning at his twin. To Hakkai, he murmured, "Can the dragon hear you?"  
  
"I can try. Hakuryuu!" Hakkai yelled to the best of his ability, though his voice broke on the second syllable. Silence greeted him. He smiled glassily, fixedly, but his shoulders relaxed. "Left," he murmured. Gojyo kept his eyes trained on Fearless, not letting the vague statement betray Hakuryuu's location.  
  
"So, where'd everybody else go?" Gojyo asked, comfortable behind the bars of the pen for this instant. Goku was busy keeping himself between the outside and Sanzo.   
  
"You didn't hear us pack up and leave while you were out. We go west. If you must follow us, I will not intervene again." Fearless cleared his throat. "My authority would only stretch so far under those circumstances. If you value your lives, go anywhere else."  
  
"So you're giving us your leave. Huh." Gojyo smiled and kicked through one of the posts of the thick pen, sidling out and casually shaking out his stiff leg. He couldn't deny that it hurt, but he couldn't let it show. And, nonchalant as ever, he took Fearless' clean, strong throat between his hands and squeezed. 


	14. Gracious

A/N: Yes, I know that was an evil cliffhanger last time. Gojyo throttling Keiji? But why? Well, here goes.  
  
I know I started another Saiyuki fic, but I promise that before I post a chapter of Eights and Aces, I will work on Cornerstone. Until Cornerstone is finished. No kidding! So this fic will -not- get left behind.  
  
(Subliminal message: Now that I've mentioned my other Saiyuki fic, aren't you in the least curious as to what it's about? Hm?)  
  
Blades: Gojyo and Goku, when charging with Hakkai into Keiji and Kozue's camp, battled for just a little while before being captured. The other aches are stiffness, dehydration, hunger, and the bruises he sustained earlier on. Not to mention the backlash of being concussed, even if Hakkai did heal him. Glad you're enjoying the abuse ^.^  
  
Enjoy  
  
***  
  
After the first time, Gojyo didn't hear his name being called, didn't feel the clawed hands trying to tear his arms off. He could only see the brilliant eyes, his eyes, and the distended, awkward hands at his wrists. He could only hear the strangled gurgle he wrested from a well-nourished throat, from the voice of the privileged. His Adam's apple bobbed under Gojyo's thumbs.  
  
"She -gave- to you," Gojyo said with a soft smile, a shadow of the madness that had once graced his twin. "She let you be her pretty brat and she -gave- to you." His arms shook from the fatigue of keeping his hands clasped around Fearless' throat. He bled from the clawmarks of Fearless' lackeys trying to free their beloved leader. Their hanyou leader. "Did you give her anything back?" he asked, not even aware of his own voice anymore. "Do you make her happy?"  
  
The eyes that stared blankly up at him were clouded from pain and lack of oxygen. Gojyo let go, watched as Fearless was caught by the two other youkai, realized he was bleeding. Fearless coughed, massaging his neck and the bright red marks below his chin.   
  
He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned, finally able to focus on Hakkai. "Get in," the brunette muttered. "Before they drop him and come after you."  
  
Already Fearless was regaining his feet, able to meet Gojyo's eyes. Gojyo climbed into the passenger seat, surprised because he hadn't noticed Hakuryuu's transformation. As Hakkai gunned the gas, Gojyo was able to make out Fearless' voice, ragged and thin.  
  
"I hope you are vindicated."  
  
*  
  
"Baka! What the hell was that about?!" Goku shouted as soon as Hakkai eased up on Hakuryuu. He thrust his face between Hakkai and Gojyo, glaring at the redhead.  
  
Gojyo rubbed at his wrists, itching under the bandages where Fearless pawed at him. Hakkai glanced over and asked, "Are you hurt badly?"  
  
The blood was coagulating over his wounds already, though he knew the cuts were going to get severely infected because no youkai claws are ever remotely sterile. "I've got to get 'em cleaned out, but I'm fine."  
  
Goku growled at being ignored. "What's your problem?!"  
  
"It's getting bumpy," Hakkai said, changing the subject. "Goku, please make sure Sanzo doesn't fall out of the back."  
  
"We seem to be getting along fine without his guidance," Gojyo muttered to himself, ignoring Hakkai's admonishing glance. The last thing he wanted was the monk chastising him for his actions when he could hardly believe he'd done them himself. He would have been perfectly content to just walk away, to get the hell as far away from that bloody pen as possible and head out for revenge once he was fresh. Just take Sanzo and go.  
  
But once there wasn't a wall between him and Fearless, there were no inhibitions. He could have killed all three of them alone, he knew it. And he wouldn't have cared until later. Gojyo had no idea how to answer Goku's questions, and didn't even want to try.  
  
Hakkai's voice broke the long silence after they emerged from the trees. "Oh, look, I remember this town."  
  
"We're doubling back." Gojyo frowned. He could see the logic in it, but he didn't like it. And then he remembered that the inn they'd stayed in before had running water.   
  
"Goku, how's Sanzo doing?" Hakkai called back, gritting his teeth over one particularly large bump that sent pain shooting through his arm.  
  
"Same as ever." And it didn't change until Hakuryuu skidded to a stop in front of the familiar inn.  
  
*  
  
They had been greeted with stares and the incredulous gasps of the innkeeper's twin daughters. They hid behind their father until Hakkai, with as much tact as possible, pulled Sanzo's arm warmers off and found the Sanbutsushin's charge card pressed close to his right wrist. His skin had taken the imprint of the card in vivid, living red. Gojyo held Sanzo, sitting down on a nearby chair and laying the blonde over a table because he doubted Sanzo could stay upright on a chair. Once Hakkai had promised copious payment, the girls set to work.  
  
One led Goku to the kitchen and let him raid the pantry, noting that his injuries were far more superficial than those of the other three. She brought fresh water and towels. The other girl, who proclaimed herself older by five minutes, couldn't decide who to attend to first.  
  
Finally, she picked Gojyo, because he winked at her. She was a pretty thing, as was her twin, and moderately proportioned so her breasts didn't interfere with the movements of her arms. She swiped a gauze-wrapped finger into each of his cuts, a process that reawakened hot pain and made his eyes tear, but he didn't make a sound. "So brave," she murmured, wrapping bandages over the holes in his skin.  
  
"Get some food and water," Hakkai told him. "But don't drink too much yet. Just a little water."  
  
Gojyo nodded, not quite understanding the reasoning behind prolonging his thirst, but willing to obey because Hakkai Knew Best. He found Goku bent at the waist, half-hanging out of the pantry. He was stuffing fruit, raw vegetables, salted meat, bread into his mouth as fast as it would go.  
  
Gojyo snorted and got to the sink, pouring himself a glass of water and tipping it down his throat. Suddenly he realized just how dry his throat was, how badly he'd needed that water. The pounding in his head lessened, it no longer hurt to breathe, he could detach his tongue from his teeth. He almost attached his mouth to the tap and let the water run, but he remembered Hakkai's edict. And he needed a toilet more than he needed another drink.  
  
*  
  
When Gojyo returned to the frontroom, Hakkai was waiting for him.  
  
"Sanzo's upstairs in his own bed. You'll be with him because Goku would never sleep otherwise."  
  
"How are you?" Gojyo asked, putting his hand out and watching Hakkai sway into it.  
  
"I'm fine. The girls rebound my arm. They're really very good at it." He moved the limb experimentally. "It barely moves."  
  
"I'm so glad you found someone to do it right," Gojyo said with a snort. "D'you want some food?"  
  
"Food would be a good idea."  
  
He followed Hakkai into the dining room and, preempting Hakkai's politeness, asked the waitress for "the fastest thing you can whip up back there. And some cigarettes."  
  
"Eat little and eat slow, Gojyo," Hakkai admonished when the food came. "Or you'll get sick and throw it all back up."  
  
Gojyo frowned but forced himself to slow down, not too keen on losing whatever food he got into his system. Another glass of water was good for his throat and his gut no longer ached from bursting bladder and vacant stomach.  
  
After finishing only one plate and restraining himself from ordering another, he lit one of the cigarettes the waitress was able to find. It was cheap, thin, and perfect. Gojyo smiled as the nicotine met aching cells and the world again was a-okay.  
  
"So, when are we going back?" Gojyo asked, leaning his elbow on the table.  
  
"As soon as we can. I couldn't find his shourejuu and it's kind of obvious the sutra's gone."  
  
Gojyo grinned. "Not to mention the saru's going to want to get a few hits in."  
  
"We've got to let Sanzo rest for as long as he needs." Hakkai sighed and took another sip of water. He'd barely drained a glass. "I can't force him to heal himself when he's got no energy."  
  
"You need to save yourself," Gojyo shot back. "Goku and I aren't much worse for wear. You tell us what to do and we'll do it, but you're sitting out."  
  
"That's very matronly of you, Gojyo," Hakkai said, his smile returning. Gojyo couldn't tell if his tone was teasing or affectionate, but the smile was a reassurance. Before, Hakkai had been too worn to even plaster his false congeniality over his words and features. The return of his mask meant, at the least, the return of his strength.  
  
*  
  
Gojyo stumbled half-blind into his bedroom later that evening, exhausted and content to just lose consciousness. He flopped onto the bed nearest him and was pleased to find that Sanzo had been stationed nearer the window and he hadn't just landed on a lump of belligerent, broken monk.  
  
He blinked and Goku was before him in the bright sunlight of late morning. "Any change?" Goku asked, turning from Gojyo to Sanzo and looking over the blonde.  
  
Gojyo groaned and rolled over, leaning hard on his aching arms so they might go numb. "He's still out. Let me sleep."  
  
"Goku, one of the girls cooked you a huge breakfast after she saw how much you ate last night," Hakkai said from the door. "Sanzo will be fine until you get back, I promise. Go eat."  
  
Goku tore his eyes from his sun and nodded at Hakkai, slowly leaving the bedside. Once at the doorframe, though, he broke into a jog. Hakkai smiled after him.  
  
"I wish it were so easy with everyone else. Gojyo, do you remember what you told me last night?"  
  
Before he could stop it, the knee-jerk reaction flew to his lips. "Baby, whatever it was, I didn't mean it."  
  
Hakkai raised his eyebrows and began to laugh. "Be that as it may," he replied, teasing in his voice, "I've got some favors to ask. I can't do them with my arm."  
  
Gojyo pushed himself up and rolled over, sitting up in bed and staring muzzily at Hakkai. "I know what you're talking about. And you know, he's going to wake up -right- then. And I'm going to get hurt."  
  
Hakkai motioned to his arm. "Better you than me."  
  
*  
  
Contrary to Gojyo's prediction. Sanzo didn't regain consciousness for another thirty-six hours, waking up rather conveniently in the middle of the night. He tried to get up and fell out of bed with a cry, the first outburst to leave his throat in utter surprise and sudden, extreme pain.  
  
Gojyo woke half-stupid, rubbing his head and cursing whatever it was that made the noise. Flicking the lights on revealed Sanzo in fetal position on the floor, curled over his torso and biting into his lip so blood flowed over his chin.  
  
"Oh, son of a bitch!" Gojyo swung his legs out from under the sheets and planted his feet on the ground. "Are you gonna get up or do I have to carry you?"  
  
Sanzo didn't answer, but kept his arms over his stomach and his teeth in his lip.  
  
"Lighten up or you'll bite it off," Gojyo warned, getting to his knees and reaching down to Sanzo. The blonde growled and batted his hand away. Gojyo shrugged and got back into bed. "Stay down there, then. See you in the morning." 


	15. Giver

A/N: Hello and welcome to another installment of "Cornerstone" also known as Sanzo-is-bitchy. But you knew that'd happen. It's rather short but it had to be written and the other breakoff point comes a few pages later, which means the update would be a few days later...and I'm one of those folks who believes in little bits over short spurts rather than twenty pages after waiting half a year. But that's just me. ^.^   
  
Enjoy  
  
***  
  
Gojyo woke before Sanzo, but not before Hakkai. In fact, it was that same man who woke him and wordlessly motioned to the huddled body on the floor.  
  
Gojyo rubbed sleep from his face and knelt down, taking Sanzo under legs and shoulders, hissing at the coldness of him. "He's freezing."  
  
"His metabolism's slowed way down because he hasn't eaten in a few days. The floor sapped all his heat." Hakkai drew back the blankets on Sanzo's bed and covered the monk when Gojyo laid him down. "Go and eat; I'll stay with him."  
  
Gojyo gladly obliged, not looking once at Hakkai. He shoved his legs into his pants and tromped out without lacing his boots, not stumbling but fighting at times to keep them on. He found Goku sitting amidst a pile of plates at the diner across the street, shoving food into his mouth, and sat with him.  
  
"You're acting like usual," Gojyo murmured, waving a waitress over. "Coffee. And about half of whatever he had," he added, pointing to Goku. She nodded uneasily, staring at the mess, and backed away. Gojyo fished the cheap cigarettes out of his pockets and lit up, sucking smoke into his lungs and smiling contentedly at the convenience of again having a pack on him. Until a wad of half-chewed food made its way from Goku's mouth onto him.  
  
"Bakasaru! Keep your food in your damn' mouth!" Goku glanced up with annoyed eyes and it was so easy to fall back into bickering between them. They were safe, for the moment. Sanzo was alive, for the moment. Habits, under such coddling circumstances as hadn't been witnessed for too long, were wonderful to pick up again. So much so that Gojyo goaded Goku when his own food came, teasing him and calling him names with a grin that split his face. Soon they were yelling at each other, making a scene to mortify the waitress and draw the attention of other patrons. And nothing hurt.  
  
"You full yet?" Gojyo murmured when they both lost interest. He grinned at Goku, who shrugged.  
  
"'Nother water, Goku said, raising his glass. When it was filled, he upturned it into his mouth, swallowed hard, and belched loudly enough to again disrupt conversations of other customers.  
  
Gojyo snorted, unable to come up with another good jab at Goku's table manners. He'd already used his best in the cathartic argument of a few minutes before.  
  
"Oi, Hakkai!" Goku called, waving. The boy smiled, full and happy, kicking idly at one of the table legs. It made the entire surface jump, and Gojyo was about to complain, but the look on Hakkai's face made him change his mind.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me?" the brunette asked, coming to Gojyo's side. In a flash of gold, he passed the Sanbutsushin's charge card to the flustered waitress that was forced to tend their table. His gentle smile at her disappeared when he again turned to Gojyo. "You let him sleep on the floor."  
  
"He wouldn't let me help him," Gojyo retorted in self-defense. "If I'd done it, he'd have fought me and hurt himself further."  
  
"That's not the point." Hakkai's mouth was set in a straight line, and that was often worse than his most false of smiles.   
  
Goku burst in between them. "Sanzo's awake? Is he?" Without waiting for an answer, he charged out of the diner and disappeared into the hotel. Gojyo, after a glance from Hakkai, took off on his heels.   
  
*  
  
"Go the fuck -away-." The baritone order issued from beneath a lump of blankets. It convulsed as Sanzo drew his knees to his chest.  
  
"Okay. Is there anything you need? Do you want me to go get you something? Are you hungry? How do you feel?" Goku crouched by the head of the bed, his face level with the back of Sanzo's head.   
  
Gojyo muttered, "Hakkai says get him water."  
  
"You get him water!" Goku replied, planted firmly in place beside Sanzo.  
  
"I dunno, Goku," Gojyo drawled, affecting apathy. "I could get caught in conversation with a pretty girl and just forget about it."  
  
Goku snarled and shoved Gojyo on his way out. The redhead grinned after him. He reached into his pocket and turned to the bed and silent blonde. He knew Sanzo could hear the wrapper crinkling, the cigarettes rubbing against each other.  
  
"I'd share, but you got mad at me last time," Gojyo said, gleaning some small measure of satisfaction for rebuking the earlier wrong. He knew Sanzo knew it and felt petty but happy. Good enough to add, "But if I really wanted to do more harm than good, I'd throw in a light."  
  
Sanzo rolled onto his back and, on the pretense of pulling hair out of his eyes, brought one hand up onto the pillow. Gojyo dropped a cigarette into it and lit the fag for Sanzo, leaving him as Goku returned, Hakkai by his side. The blonde had never once looked at him.  
  
*  
  
Gojyo was bored. Utterly, thoroughly, annoyedly bored. Not only was Sanzo incapacitated with Hakkai and Goku disappearing into his room for hours at a time, but the sutra was off in the middle of nowhere and there wasn't a thing he could do about it. Plus that, he had to share a room with Sanzo which made picking up women impossible unless they were willing to take him into their homes. And -that- wasn't gonna happen.   
  
And so, after two days of being in a sour mood, Gojyo swung into his room and collapsed on the bed. And he realized Sanzo was standing over him.  
  
"You sure you should be up?" Gojyo asked, sitting up and meeting Sanzo's furious eyes.  
  
"They have my -gun-," he replied, his words filed to sharp points. "And my fuckin' shirt."  
  
"I love your priorities," Gojyo muttered, putting his chin on his hand. "And I was getting used to you in just your leathers all the time."  
  
The look Sanzo gave him bordered upon absolute zero. There is a place and time for everything, and Gojyo picked the perfect moment to piss Sanzo off.  
  
"I'm sick of being dehumanized. Son of a bitch, you all treat me like trophies. Son of a bitch." Sanzo swayed a little, then regained his balance by putting his hand against the wall. "Give me another cigarette."  
  
"Suffer, bouzu," Gojyo replied, feeling rather comfortable around an unarmed Sanzo, bitchy or no. Unarmed, yes, but definitely not incapacitated. Gojyo barely registered the blonde's movement until his hand fisted in Gojyo's hair and pulled roughly down.  
  
"I'll fuckin' break your face. Gimme a damn' cigarette."  
  
Gojyo scowled, letting familiar temptation make his fingers twitch. The urge to beat upon Sanzo came more frequently than the urge to jump his bones. Gojyo settled for a happy median, passing a cigarette to Sanzo only after he purred, "You've got the nicest hands, Sanzo-sama."  
  
Those nice hands gave another yank before releasing him, and then Sanzo bent slightly, putting his face before Gojyo. It took the redhead a moment to realize he was demanding a light.  
  
"Fuck you. I'm almost out of fluid." But he lit the cigarette anyway.  
  
"You've bummed enough off of me," Sanzo replied, sitting down hard and wincing as the movement jarred his insides.  
  
Gojyo lay back, pillowing his head on his arms. He glanced over to Sanzo. "Now what?"  
  
"Now you shut up."  
  
"You ready to go out and get 'em?" Gojyo pressed, lighting a cigarette of his own. "What with you still not able to process solid food and all."  
  
Sanzo snorted, glaring bloody murder at his cigarette for lack of anything else.   
  
"Mother and your pet won't like it. But they want to go too."  
  
"And you." This was not a question, but a certainty.  
  
Gojyo grinned at the ceiling, remembering the look on Fearless' face. He hates his mother. "Yeah," he murmured. "It's not just your problem." 


	16. Knives

A/N: This chapter was probably one of the hardest I've written. But my decision is made. We'll get back to the -ikkou next chapter, I promise.  
  
Enjoy  
  
***  
  
Keiji sat between Jiro and Ren as six slaves dragged a steaming carcass into the center of the ring, tossing it unceremoniously over the fire. An identical corpse was set nearby, left to bleed for those preferring their meat raw.  
  
Jiro and Ren and Kozue and his followers descended upon the warm, raw meat. Keiji and a handsome, brutish youkai stayed back. The latter only did so because an injury kept him from entering the fray with all his assets. Keiji glanced sideways over at him and he grinned, showing dirty fangs. He was small and had very few tattoos or piercings that would delineate age and rank. Nothing more than an adolescent, and yet he sat at Jiro's other arm.  
  
Slaves brought the cooked meat to them, and Keiji accepted awkwardly, still unused to not having to hunt for his own food and amazed at the luxury of choice in having it cooked. He ate slowly, watching the others laugh and tear into their meal. It tasted gamey and burned the roof of his mouth, but it was cooked.  
  
Ren and Jiro returned to him, licking their hands and mouths, sated and happy. "How are you, Keiji-dono?" Jiro asked, rubbing at his own throat.  
  
Keiji shrugged. "Fine. Just fine." He swallowed hard against the pain and breathed deep.  
  
Ren leaned in, putting his elbows on his knees. "I don't get what that guy's problem was. He looked crazy. You weren't there, Jiro; you didn't see it."  
  
Jiro cleared his throat and glanced over to Kozue's group, and Ren grinned. "Oop. Jiro-*sama*."  
  
"Shut up, you." Jiro returned his attention to Keiji. "Do you know why he attacked you, Keiji-dono?"  
  
Keiji chewed at the inside of his lip, unable to keep himself from running his hand over the red marks below his jaw. "Did you ever get a look at him?" He took a swig of something from a skin, unsure of whether it was extremely old liquor or dirty water. "He's hanyou, held captive by another one. It's idiotic I've got so much power and he resents it. Hell, I'd strangle me too."  
  
Jiro nodded, and Ren whistled low through his teeth. "Got a funny feeling we're in something we don't understand, Ji-chan," Ren murmured. Jiro shot him another glare at the name and checked again to make sure Kozue and his followers hadn't heard.  
  
"Onii-san shouldn't call him that," the handsome youth said from Jiro's other side. He was sucking on the bone he'd picked clean, grinning at them. "You know how Ji-chan hates it."  
  
Before Jiro could lay into the kid, Ren broke in. "And Matsu-kun needs to introduce himself to his superiors before he enters a conversation unasked." Ren raised his eyebrows and motioned to Keiji.  
  
"Fine, then. I'm Higurawa Matsu," he said, not bothering to remove the bone from his mouth or move to bow.  
  
Keiji raised an eyebrow. "The attitude is genetic," he murmured, and Jiro bit down a smile. "I am Hoshimura Keiji. A pleasure, I'm sure."  
  
At this, Matsu's dark eyes widened and the bone fell from between his lips. "Oh, shit!"  
  
Ren nodded. "Yeah, Tsu-kun. Funny how you didn't recognize him." He laughed and drained one of the heavy skins, despite the foul taste of the indistinguishable liquid within. Matsu scrambled to his knees and bowed, his one mangled arm bound close to his chest so that it didn't move.  
  
"Sumimasen, Keiji-dono." When he sat back, Jiro whacked him upside the head. He rubbed the lump emphatically, putting on the closest a fanged face can come to a pout.  
  
Ren laughed again, and even Keiji chuckled at the strange face. "So, how's the arm?" Ren asked, leaning back to look at his younger brother.  
  
Matsu shrugged, wriggling the limb against his chest. "Not so bad." He grinned, laughing affectionately as he added, "Broke it falling out of a tree." Before Ren could comment on his clumsiness, Matsu added, "But I still won the fight."  
  
"I'm sure you can regale us with the story later, Matsu-san," Jiro cut in, trying to keep his voice stern.  
  
"Why?" Keiji asked. "I've got no strategy to discuss, nothing serious on my mind. Is there something you need to say, Jiro-san?"  
  
Jiro, stunned at the lack of big-boy protocol, was speechless. Until Ren started laughing. "Okay, let the boy talk. Go ahead," Jiro acquiesced, and Matsu grinned at him, launching into the story behind his injury. The audience was soon laughing hard enough to garner attention from one Tokuzen Kozue, who snorted in disdain and turned away.  
  
*  
  
Night came quickly, and with it Keiji was left alone with Ren. Artfully enough, Matsu went to secure himself a bed. Twenty minutes later, Jiro found something for himself to do, though the excuse wasn't more than a few words and "Goodnight, Keiji-dono, Ren-san."  
  
Keiji grunted and met eyes with Ren, who was smiling. "You're smart enough to put two and two together."  
  
"Matsu doesn't work under me, does he?" Ren shook his head, and Keiji closed his eyes.  
  
"See, me and Jiro, we never liked each other all that much until Jiro met Matsu. And then when the little one got left behind and we both went on hunts and whatnot, I promised him I'd keep Jiro safe. You know, just to make him feel better about being too young to follow. He was still too young when I was transferred to work for Kozue-dono and met up with Jiro again. I didn't know he'd been drafted to fight under Kozue-dono until earlier today. Pulled a few strings to get him near us, hope you don't mind."  
  
Keiji smiled a little. That was Ren: do now, ask permission later. To anyone else, he would have been a major annoyance, but Keiji had never been aristocratic enough to station himself above Ren. He rather enjoyed his company.  
  
"I don't. So the happy ending is, you and Jiro became more like friends through the bond with Matsu." He grinned. "Does Jiro resent having a guardian angel?"  
  
Ren laughed. "You're good sometimes, Keiji-dono, really you are. But hey, I remind him of Matsu-kun as well as anybody could, and I think that's the main reason he'll put up with me."  
  
"There's a definite resemblance." He chewed at his lip. "How do you think Matsu would survive without Jiro?"  
  
"He's done well enough in the days before today." Ren shrugged. "He's strong and we all heal fast, the Higurawa family. The only difference right now is he can eat 'till he's full and sleep on furs instead of the ground." Ren glanced over to the empty place where Kozue had been sitting an hour or so before. "I'm just wondering when his mouth'll get him in trouble. I got lucky, but he may not."  
  
Keiji shrugged. "Everybody has things they've got to learn. At least he's got you two."  
  
Ren smiled. "Yeah. Hey now, no parallel thinking, Keiji-dono. You're sitting pretty with us two, too." Ren reached up and clapped Keiji's shoulder so hard he coughed, appeared not to notice, but patted him again more gently. "If nobody else, us two."  
  
"Aw, shucks," Keiji drawled, grinning a little. "I think you've had too much to drink. I think I've had too much to drink."  
  
"I think this stuff's water," Ren replied, opening a skin and peering into the darkness.  
  
"All the more reason, if it tastes like that." He hauled himself to his feet, felt his insides slosh, and nodded to himself. "So I'm going to bed. See you in the morning."  
  
"G'night, Keiji-dono."  
  
*  
  
In the light from a lone torch, he was beautiful. Clean-skinned, well-proportioned, dark and serene. The angry red marks upon his skin were fading into the soft brown of his throat, and he breathed deep and even in sleep. There was a gun jammed into the waistband of his pants, and a tatty scroll clasped to his breast. His red curls fanned over the dark furs on which he slept, writhing like fire.  
  
His boots lay discarded by the ends of the furs, along with his heavy outer coat and a shining, unused helmet. His breath was sour, and his hands twitched as he dreamed. His dreams were secret, left alone to him because nobody cared to hear them, and he did not care to tell them.  
  
Brilliant like quicksilver, the knife severed the strong throat and blood painted his lips in strong relief. His face was stained to match his hair, angelic and now monochromatic in slumber. As he drowned, his twitching fingers released the scroll. It rolled into waiting hands.  
  
The gun was pulled from his waistband, checked for bullets, and tossed down beside him once the clip proved itself empty. The torch was taken out into the night, and the silent camp waited for morning to come. 


	17. Gentleness

A/N: So...Keiji's dead. And this chapter proves it wasn't the Sanzo-ikkou what done it. Nyah!  
  
Also, if you've reviewed after I posted chapter fifteen, I haven't gotten it - FF.net is being crappy again, because a friend told me she reviewed a few days ago and I haven't seen the bugger. So I apologize if you think I deleted your review or anything like that - they just haven't been showing up. Thanks for trying anyway .   
  
Enjoy this chapter - it's the final calm before the real storm.  
  
***  
  
Hakkai stumbled into the hallway, leaning heavily against the first thing he hit. It happened to be Gojyo. Goku darted past them, into Sanzo's room.  
  
"Stop, Goku; he needs to sleep," Hakkai said, managing some firmness of tone. "We're both very tired right now." Goku turned to him, silhouetted by the sunlight, and nodded once before pulling up a chair to Sanzo's bedside. Silently, serenely, reverently, his vigil began.  
  
Gojyo shut the door behind him, looking down to his thin, pale companion. Hakkai's skin had taken on a waxen pallor and his eyes were rimmed, sunken, sick. He put his arm over Hakkai's shoulder and turned him toward the room he shared with Goku.  
  
"Gonna sleep now, too," he murmured, half-dragging the brunette until they were at the end of one bed. None too ceremoniously, Gojyo let Hakkai fall down upon it.  
  
"Wrong one," Hakkai murmured, looking at the other bed.  
  
"You'll shower when you wake up, then," Gojyo replied, grinning a little. "Sleeping in his mess won't kill you for one day." He knelt by the end of the bed and unlaced Hakkai's boots, pulling them off and letting them hit the floor with loud thuds. Hakkai made no move to relax. "The saru ought to be fine by Sanzo's bedside for as long as you want him to stay there. I'll try not to do anything stupid until you can come and rescue me. And Sanzo's out like a broken bulb. So sleep."  
  
Hakkai stared up at the ceiling, running his good hand over the bandages on his broken arm. "Can't."  
  
Gojyo frowned and climbed onto Hakkai's bed, stretching out and looking over at the man adjacent. "Well, then, talk to me." He smiled. "Just like old times, but no cards."  
  
There was a table between the beds, high enough to block Hakkai's face from view. Gojyo could see his hand never stopped probing perversely at his arm. "It hurts when I heal him."  
  
"Your arm?"  
  
Hakkai made a soft, noncommittal noise. "Nobody knows what it's like. I'm a fishing lure for everybody else's energy. And Sanzo's..." Hakkai's hand clamped down over his arm, fingers massaging as if loosening taught muscle or breaking up pain. His fingers squeezed spastically, pausing irregularly and then pressing harder than before. His knuckles were reddening.   
  
"It's so big," Hakkai whispered, his voice hoarse and dying. "You could drown in it. I never believe he'd kill himself because his body wouldn't stand for it. Nobody who -lives- so hard could die." His hand left his arm and pressed, open-palmed, over his stomach. His fingers dug into the fabric of his shirt.  
  
"I could get lost, swallowed up. Look at me, I'm so tired I'm babbling. After just healing him as much as he could manage." He sighed, slowing his words. "I'm cold, Gojyo. Cold and tired and hurting all over so I can't sleep and I stay so damn' cold."  
  
The floor creaked as Gojyo put his feet down and put his hand over Hakkai's, smoothing the curled fingers until their hands lay flat. "You're right," he said. "You're very cold. Let me get you a blanket, and then you're going to relax."  
  
He backed away and yanked the covers from Hakkai's bed, straightening the rumpled mess of Goku's sheets over Hakkai and adding the extra blankets. The man was insulated to his shoulders, but he gave one exhausted shiver.  
  
"Gimme your hand," Gojyo ordered, adding sheepishly, "Bro did this when I couldn't sleep. Always worked on me. Either your hand or I stroke your hair."  
  
Hakkai managed a small smile. "Interesting family," he croaked, pulling his good hand from beneath the covers and letting it rest between Gojyo's. The redhead kneaded his thumbs gently into Hakkai's palm, stretching the fingers and opening his hand. Even this small part of him was wound so tensely Gojyo had to work a moment before the muscles didn't resist relaxing.  
  
"Nnn." Hakkai dropped into incoherence, followed by only a flutter of his eyes before unconsciousness. Gojyo tucked his hand back under the blankets and locked the door on his way out.  
  
*  
  
It would have been so easy to go out and get drunk. But he didn't want to, didn't want to risk disturbing Sanzo, or worse, Hakkai. So instead he found himself dining with Goku, putting the meal on a tab owing to Hakkai's good standing with the owner.  
  
"So, what are you going to do when you get your hands on those youkai?" Gojyo asked with a little smile on his face. He had watched Goku's hands twitching the entire meal and thought it a good time for the kid to vent a little frustration before he exploded.  
  
"Lots of things," Goku replied, tearing suddenly and savagely into a bit of pork before him. Food sprayed from his full mouth as he outlined, in detail, what maneuvers he'd like to employ. Most were suitably brutal, and more than a little bloody. Gojyo found himself echoing every sentiment.  
  
"I just want Sanzo to get up so we can go get 'em. I hate the wait." Goku stared disconsolately at his full plate, then slyly slid his eyes up to the last few morsels before Gojyo. His chopsticks made a slow and careful pilgrimage before being fenced away by Gojyo's.  
  
"Mine, saru!"  
  
"You always steal from -my- plate!" whined Goku.  
  
Gojyo laughed. "Yeah, but that's because you're littler and don't need to eat so much." He took a slug from his beer and flicked a piece of meat from his plate over to Goku's. "So that means you gotta ask first." Gojyo grinned, congratulating himself at being able to pick his battles. He'd fight the kid over a few lousy scraps of food some other time.  
  
Goku grumbled, but was surprised at having gotten anything from Gojyo at all. He stuffed the beef into his mouth, wary of it being snatched back, but Gojyo just lounged in his chair.  
  
"How's Hakkai?"  
  
Gojyo shrugged. "Same as Sanzo. Looks like it's gonna be you and me for a while."  
  
Goku frowned. "I hate the wait."  
  
Gojyo knew that tone, knew the look on Goku's face. "Leave the prick for Sanzo," he murmured softly. "Kill anybody else, but you know who to leave."  
  
Goku's eyes darkened and he stared down at his clenched fists like a child. His breaths were slow and deep, but ragged at the ends. "I want a piece of him."  
  
"We all do." Gojyo grinned. "I'll cut him up and you can keep his face for a souvenir."  
  
Goku wrinkled his nose. "Why would I want another hanyou around?"  
  
Gojyo laughed, throwing his head back and finishing off his beer. "Point taken. Come on, saru, time for bed."  
  
Goku glanced at the wall clock. It was barely ten. "Who are you and what have you done with Gojyo?"  
  
"Shut up and I'll let you sleep in Sanzo's room."  
  
Goku bit down on his lips, clamping his mouth firmly shut. Gojyo grinned and pushed his chair back with a loud screech of wood on varnished wood. The few other diners glanced up at him as they left, but they paid the onlookers no mind.  
  
*  
  
Hakkai woke up first, out of sheer protocol. Gojyo and Goku had been awake for hours before, but Sanzo was still out. Hakkai blinked blearily and Gojyo leaned over him.  
  
"Hey, you're alive. Had me worried for a minute there. How's your head?"  
  
Hakkai blinked stupidly at him a few more times before murmuring, "Attached. Where's Goku?"  
  
"Where else? Want some water?"  
  
"Mm." Hakkai forced himself up on his good elbow, then leaned against the wall behind the bed. Gojyo passed him a glass of water and he stared at it a few seconds before drinking. "Sanzo?"  
  
"Still down. What did you do to him, anyway?"  
  
"You know."  
  
Gojyo took the glass from him and sat down on the side of the bed, missing his legs by some stroke of luck. Sunlight streamed, ever cheerful, through the window. "That's not what I meant."  
  
Hakkai closed his brilliant eyes and the darkness around them was even more noticeable. "Almost good as new. Water and broth, maybe some rice. We'll see if he can walk on his own."  
  
Gojyo winced. Having to help Sanzo about his daily duties was not a chore Gojyo relished any more than the monk at having the redhead as a witness. Sanzo could make a few steps out of sheer willpower, but little more than that left him with a disabling case of vertigo. Having to acknowledge this was worse than accepting Gojyo's help, and the redhead had suffered many an elbow to the gut for even so much as -looking- at Sanzo the wrong way. He hoped, for the monk's safety, that Hakkai had done something about his ability to walk.  
  
"How's your arm?" he asked, just to change the subject.  
  
"Didn't hurt until you mentioned it," Hakkai replied, a little smile worming its way onto his face. "That's always how it is," he added, waving away Gojyo's expression, a visual apology. He yawned, rather undignified, and covered his mouth a few instants too late, so his hand hovered over his next words. "Have a good night?"  
  
"Hope you don't mind I let the saru sleep in Sanzo's room. I figured he could sleep better through the snoring."  
  
"You were cold," Hakkai murmured, looking at the extra blankets over his body.  
  
Gojyo shrugged. "I was fine. I figured Goku would complain, though. Little sacrifices," he sing-songed, waving his finger.  
  
Hakkai smiled at him, letting his head drop back against the wall. "Because you're you, that was quite the display of altruism. Although you've done better." Hakkai pushed himself upright and swung his feet away from Gojyo, standing sock-footed on the cold floor after a couple tries. "I'm going to get cleaned up, and then maybe eat something."  
  
"Don't forget the eating something part," Gojyo called after him, leaving Hakkai to his privacy. Once he realized the words had left his mouth, he began to laugh. "When Hakkai's out, I become the mother hen!"  
  
*  
  
Sanzo's return to the land of the living was heralded by the barrage of questions from Goku that echoed down the hall. Hakkai rushed in but didn't manage to shut him up before the harisen came crashing down upon Goku's head.  
  
"Somebody's back to normal," Gojyo commented, laughter in his voice.   
  
"Eighty percent, at least," Hakkai corrected. He watched as Sanzo hauled himself out of bed, rose to his full height with impeccable posture, and straightened out his leathers.  
  
"Hakkai," Sanzo murmured, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"Five minutes," Hakkai replied, disappearing.  
  
"We're going? We're going!" Goku cried, dark excitement suffusing his features.   
  
Sanzo brushed past Gojyo without paying him any attention, stalking down the stairs and trying not to look like he leaned heavily against the railing. Gojyo stopped Goku from following him.  
  
"Hear Hakkai? Eighty percent. You any good at math? It means Sanzo's not in top form."  
  
"I know what it means." Goku got around Gojyo and hurried down the stairs to catch up. Gojyo shrugged and followed, stretching his muscles in preparation for the catharsis he was sure would come. 


	18. A Reunion

A/N: Hooray for anticlimax. And the irony of beautiful days.  
  
Here are some explanations that I don't think I'll be able to work into the fiction itself.  
  
1: Why Hoshimura Kaida wants the sutra in the first place. - She's a hired grunt for...oh, come on. Take a guess.  
  
2: Why Keiji let the Sanzo-ikkou go. - He was under orders from his mother, he was guilt-tripping about beating the crap out of Sanzo, Kougaiji would rather kill them himself (which is why he told Hoshimura to let 'em go in the first place).  
  
3: The utter and total importance of Matsu. - Jiro and Ren used to loathe each other. Jiro meets Matsu. Enter hearts-and-flowers. Ren learns to like Jiro because Matsu loves him so dearly, protects little brother's boy, they grow into amicability. That's about the extent of the shounen-ai in *this* little ficcie!  
  
4: Why Keiji had to die, even though I grew attached to him. - Besides the delicious anticlimax, he couldn't logically have survived in that sort of tribal hierarchy being a hanyou, even with the blessing of his mother. Good old-fashioned discriminatory mutiny.   
  
Hum, I think that's about it. ^.^ Enjoy this chapter and I promise the finale is coming soon!  
  
***  
  
The day was beautiful, just like the ones prior. The crystalline blue sky sprawled lazily, unmarred by clouds, and rolled the sun over its smooth surface. Birds sang in the trees, moss and grass released the scent of fresh life, insects danced over translucent, green leaves. Somewhere, a cute little bunny choked on a cigarette end.  
  
Hakkai let out a strained grunt as yet another tree root made Jiipu jump over the terrain, and wondered sardonically how to repair the shock absorbers on a small dragon. Getting in was the easy part, though. The foliage gave way to the inner sanctum of the forest, the trees growing larger and denser but welcoming. It was the driving out that would be difficult.  
  
Goku, his knees braced on the backs of the front seats, leaned over the windshield, tracking and calling down a direction down to Hakkai every few moments. Sanzo sat in the passenger seat, blonde head bent over and looking into his lap, where his arms were folded. His hair hid his face, but his posture remained rigid.  
  
"There! Stop!" Goku cried, and Hakkai managed to pull Jiipu to a screeching halt in time. The car had skidded, turning so that its right side, the driver's side, was nearly flush with a large, ancient tree. Goku clambered out and, kneeling on the hood, glanced around. "Two of 'em. And I can smell more. We're here."  
  
Hakkai nodded. "You go ahead, Goku. We'll come in a minute."  
  
Goku grinned. "All right." Seconds later, two half-formed cries were terminated with crunching sounds. "Come on out," he called back, his breathing even.  
  
Hakuryuu took off into the canopy, and Hakkai smiled softly after him. Gojyo walked beside Hakkai, but kept his body partway in front of Sanzo's as well. "Shall we burst in and surprise them?" Hakkai asked, rather jokingly.  
  
Gojyo snorted. "It worked so well last time. Where won't we get snuck up on if we're the ones sneaking in?"  
  
"We're going to take the long way. Do the perimeter first, and work our way in. It ought to help somewhat."   
  
Gojyo pointed to the bloody heap of youkai beside Goku. "Until they start finding the bodies."  
  
"That's the point."  
  
"Fuck this." Sanzo brushed past the two of them and headed down the obvious path. Goku quickly followed. Hakkai had paled.  
  
"Oh, my." Hakkai put his hand over his mouth and slowly started after Sanzo's disappearing form.  
  
Gojyo grabbed his good arm and ran to catch up. When he got to Sanzo, he released Hakkai and muttered, "Save yourself, bouzu."  
  
Sanzo didn't even spare a glance over at Gojyo, but his pace slowed. His breathing was harsh and ragged, and his steps were not as straight as they had been when he started. "I'm going to fucking kill him."  
  
"That's a given," Gojyo replied, walking straight and not commenting when Sanzo swayed close enough to touch him. "But let us do all the gruntwork, eh?"  
  
Goku grinned. "So -that's- why you keep us around, Sanzo! Oi, kappa, bet I can kill more than you!"  
  
"That's a bet I wouldn't want to take," Hakkai murmured, looking with affection down at Goku. "Has anybody else taken a moment to consider that this might be suicidal?"  
  
"Suicidal nothing," Sanzo snarled. "It's gonna be fuckin' -kamikaze-."  
  
Goku grinned widely, adding his own spin to the comment as his hands worked around the nyoi-bou. "Yeah, for them!"  
  
*  
  
It wasn't long before they encountered a few more youkai, and more, and yet more. In the course of a few small skirmishes, thirty or so lost their lives. Goku was unaffected, but Hakkai was already showing signs of fatigue. Sanzo's willpower would hold out for a while longer, but he too was showing strain. Gojyo walked between and slightly behind both of them at all times. The small encounters had done nothing for the redhead himself aside from being a nice warm-up. Anticipation lay heavy. Sanzo's gun was in there somewhere, Sanzo's sutra was in there somewhere. -He- was in there somewhere.  
  
Goku stopped short.  
  
"What now?" Gojyo drawled, watching as the boy tilted his head back and shushed him.  
  
"They're burning something." He wrinkled his nose. "Ulgh. Each other." He began to walk away, but his eyes widened. "And gunpowder."  
  
The explosion came not a heartbeat after.  
  
Goku was up and running toward it before Gojyo had even regained his feet, and had all but disappeared when Hakkai and Sanzo had steadied themselves. Out of instinct, the three had dodged earthward, Hakkai doing so gingerly to protect his arm, but Goku had just taken off toward the noise. "Suicidal saru!" Gojyo snarled, glancing once at Hakkai and then taking off himself, his hands tense around the shaku-jou. On little more than adrenaline, he caught up when they reached a conflagration of immense proportion. The flames jutted violently into the sky, releasing the acrid stink of burning flesh and bodily fluids.  
  
"Can't tell what exploded," Goku muttered, looking around for any youkai that might have seen them.  
  
Gojyo bit back an insensitive joke about flatulence and looked into the base of the flames. Bodies of emaciated slave youkai lay piled waist-high with brush and refuse, their lifeless eyes boiling in their sockets. They were all naked or close to it, and sported welts on their backs and wrists. Gojyo tried to breathe only through his mouth - the stench was incredible.  
  
Atop the pile of bodies was an unrecognizable lump, and a stripe of white-hot embers ran from one part of it to the ground, which was charred and littered with hunks of burned meat. It looked as if a flaming gun had fired into the ground from atop the pile.  
  
A gun. Gojyo turned and looked to Goku, who was sitting on a nearby rock and grumbling, and said, "Go get Sanzo and Hakkai, would you?"  
  
"Why should I?" Goku retorted, narrowing one eye at him. The lopsided look was one of irritated apathy, Goku's variation on the face so often seen upon Sanzo.  
  
"Because you should respect your elders. It's important." Gojyo raised an eyebrow and then turned from Goku, trusting him to do it. He was sure Hakkai and Sanzo would show up anyway, and not in very forgiving moods if his hunch was wrong. Leaving the two of them alone wasn't the best idea he'd ever had, but he couldn't undo it once it was done.  
  
True to prediction, Goku wasn't gone more than a few seconds before Hakkai and Sanzo showed themselves. "What's going on?" Hakkai asked, putting a hand up to cover his nose and mouth.  
  
"Look over here." Hakkai did as asked and raised his eyebrows. Gojyo sent out the chain of the shaku-jou and looped it about the lump atop the pile. It hit the ground at their feet with a sickening thump and bounced, rolling raggedly to a stop. Gojyo and Goku kicked dirt over it until the flames were out. Holding his breath, Hakkai bent down and brushed the dirt away, and recoiled as the lump showed itself to be half a corpse. The skin was stretched taught where it was not burned away, charred black and revealing fire-darkened bones. Scraps of clothing were burned into the skin, stuck to boiling blood and fused with cooked meat. A gun had been jammed into the waistband of what used to be pants.  
  
"Well, now." Hakkai suppressed a gag as he recognized the shourejuu. "It's too hot to touch."  
  
"Sanzo, can't you get another one?" Goku asked, making a face.  
  
Sanzo stared down at the corpse, recognition and deduction flaring behind his eyes. "I want my damn' gun. -That- gun."  
  
"They wouldn't burn the sutra, would they?" Goku stared down at the charred body.   
  
Sanzo snorted. "Only you could be that stupid."  
  
Gojyo stripped off his vest and wrapped it around his hand, reaching down and grabbing the shourejuu before tossing it away from him, stepping hurriedly back from the body. Then, using the shaku-jou's chain, he flung the remains back into the fire. He tossed his vest with it, unable to bring himself to put it back on. He glanced at Hakkai. He looked to Sanzo. Back to Hakkai. He didn't want to say it; neither did they.   
  
"Idiots didn't realize a gun in a fire would go off," Sanzo muttered, staring down at the shourejuu. He rubbed one of his leather-clad arms and bent down, grazing his fingers over the hot metal. At once, he spat on his hand, grabbed the handle, and hissed. But kept his hand around it. He jammed it between the waist of his robes and his blue jeans, wiped his hand on his side, and silently headed on.  
  
*  
  
Sanzo was limping, and not just from the slowly cooling hunk of burning metal pressed against his pants. He was showing it more than ever, having just been utterly deflated at the anticlimax before him. He scowled at the ground as he walked, scorching the innocuous dirt with the rage in his eyes.  
  
The bastards -stole- from me. They take my gun, my sutra, my goddamn' health, and the motherfucker I was gonna kill to make it fine. No-one but nobody lays the great Genjo Sanzo flat in a bed for days, beats him so black and blue he can't fucking take a piss without a shameless pervert pawing at him under the pretense of being helpful. Not without getting something for it. And, damn it all, they took that away.   
  
Screaming and crashing through the brush, youkai rushed toward Sanzo. He'd killed two before Goku had even downed the first that dove upon him. The gun burned against his hand so he had to again sheath it in fabric so he wouldn't blister his skin. Sanzo's white hand bubbled where the gun had touched it, and blood was filling the blister on his index finger. The calluses from daily handling of the shourejuu glowed whitely against the redness. The heat of it through his jeans was nearly unbearable, but it did not blister his skin and by no means would he put it down.  
  
Gojyo and Goku kept their backs to Hakkai and Sanzo, keeping together in a circle with a steadily lessening perimeter. Hakkai stayed near Sanzo, ready to fight if necessary, but unwilling to engage in heavy combat. Gojyo swung out the blade of the shaku-jou and youkai screams rent the air as blood gushed from savage cuts. To this background, Hakkai grabbed Sanzo's hand and healed the burn as quickly as he could. Without something cold to drop the temperature of Sanzo's skin, it was the only option. Healthy, pink flesh regenerated half as quickly as it should have.  
  
"I think we were noticed by a hunting party or something," Goku said, jamming the nyoi-bou into the sternum of an unfortunate attacker. "There's barely any of these guys!"  
  
"We're still in the clear, then," Hakkai answered, looking around. With a few more attacks, Gojyo and Goku had either killed or fatally maimed all of the youkai. A few lay moaning, writhing in pools of the blood that had yet to seep into the ground. Gojyo wiped the blade of the shaku-jou against a moss-laden tree and shook out his arms. His white shirt had been spattered with blood, and he looked as dirty as Goku, though he hadn't gotten within a few yards of the youkai himself. The smell of it filled his lungs, hitting the back of his throat and releasing the olfactory memory of the burning pyre they had left behind.  
  
"Five hundred more to go."  
  
Goku threw back his head, his grin returning. "What's that for me then?"  
  
"Four hundred and ninety-seven, in a perfect world," Hakkai replied with a smile. "The other three are Gojyo's."  
  
Sanzo blew his hair out of his eyes and muttered, "Wrong." 


	19. Finale

A/N: It took me a while, but here it is. It's done. This is it. Fin. Owari. No more.   
  
But first! A quick answering session of some stuff I intended to put in but never did because it didn't fit.  
  
Hoshimura Kaida wants the sutra because she's got a mild thing for Kougaiji and knows he wants it. Thus all the references to 'our employer' are references to Kou. The reason the Sanzo-ikkou go free, then, is because Kougaiji wants 'em for himself. Plus that, I had to get them out of there somehow ^.^ Jiro and Matsu are lovers. Yes, I said it. They have mangy youkai sex. Deal! I killed Keiji because there was no way for him, in the youkai hierarchy, to survive much longer. A hanyou leader - no way are the majority going to stand by and let that happen for very long. Thus, he was a giant target, even if I did love him. And finally, it ends here because the rest of the youkai aren't worth their time. And it'd be a stupid conquest. You'll get what I mean when you finish reading this.  
  
That being said, this chapter was one of the hardest I've had to write on this fic. I apologize in advance that I suck at actiony scenes and crap, but hopefully the finale isn't -too- bad.   
  
Thanks to everybody who reviewed - you give me a major case of the happies and make this worthwhile.  
  
***  
  
Raucous laughter tainted the air, smelling of old meat. Two heads and two heads only stayed bowed and silent. Wine skins were raised over gaping, dirty mouths and the contents spilled over, splashing into nose and eyes but the laughter did not slow. Two heads and two heads only hovered together, turned on the celebration.  
  
"Aw, my boys, I'll give ya posts, posts you'll get, boys! The bastard wan'n even worf a good fuck for the meat, now drink sommin."  
  
"No, thank you, Kozue-dono," Jiro responded softly, tightening his hand around Ren's arm in warning. "Please excuse Ren-san and myself."  
  
Their only response was a loud belch. Jiro turned away, wiping wine and saliva from his face. He pulled Ren with him, ensuring that the characteristic Higurawa subtlety wouldn't get a word in. Ren could have easily held his ground, but he followed Jiro because he was the last person he wanted to fight with. They walked out of the tent, heading toward the perimeter on autopilot. It was easy, falling into pace with Jiro, because Jiro's pace was your own.   
  
"You should be used to it," Jiro admonished softly, crossing his arms over his chest. The scars on his breast rubbed against his arms as he moved, catching and scratching the flesh. The scars were a reassurance of his rank, just another mark like the piercings, the burns, but the scars were more avidly earned. Jiro once had a birthmark, a simple triangle, but it had been torn away in one of the first brawls of his youth. As a result, that particular scar filled in as dark as the birthmark had been, crossing brightly over his heart. Ren by far had more marks upon him, but Jiro's scars were each much deeper.   
  
Ren shook his head. "Yeah, well."  
  
"Good guy," Jiro murmured, glancing down to Ren with a small, sad smile.  
  
"Good guy." Ren reached up and fingered the gold ring in his right ear, mimicking the nervous tic he'd always seen on his supposed superior. "Yeah, they killed him, but they're talking and he can't fight back. Getting drunk at midday when they could be doing something -useful-."  
  
Jiro nodded. "Cowardly, but effective." They turned around a tree, nodding silently as the youkai that saw them swept into quick bows. Just enough so that their shoulders dropped below their hearts, and then they returned to whatever they happened to be doing. Jiro smiled inwardly at Ren's uncharacteristic tirade. "Oi, Ren-kun."  
  
"Aa, Jii-chan?" Ren responded, grinning ingratiatingly at the nicknames.  
  
"You wanted to fuck the living daylights out of him, didn't you?" Jiro's answer came in the form of a swift elbow to the stomach. He laughed as Ren continued to walk, and rubbed his gut as he caught up. "Too bad they burned the corpse, ne?"   
  
Ren stared in shock at Jiro. This further insult on his integrity struck hard, but he knew the tone of Jiro's voice and laughed as well. Only Jii-chan. Only Jii-chan could treat Keiji's death so lightly in spirit without misrepresenting his real regret. Yes, they were desensitized to slaughter on a daily basis. Yes, this was not the first time Kozue had pulled a stunt like that, and it wasn't the first time for -anyone- either. Yes, Jiro or Ren might try it themselves one day. But some part of both of them had gotten attached to Keiji in a strangely righteous manner. He was so anomalous, a slave put into power, that the underdog in both of them cheered him on. Ren in particular felt a twinge of guilt at not seeing it coming.   
  
That was the thing about Keiji. It was impossible to picture life without him, because he asserted himself in a manner unforgettable. His red hair had only been one part of it.  
  
Ren started when Jiro grabbed a man about the neck. The redhead struggled violently for a moment, then tumbled to the ground as Jiro dropped him.  
  
"I know you. What the hell are you doing back here?" Jiro snarled down at the hanyou. Before the redhead regained his breath enough to answer, Jiro found himself tackled to the ground by a very heavy, very bony, very strong young man.   
  
"Goku, get off," the hanyou said, coughing around his words. The golden-eyed boy didn't move from Jiro's chest, but glanced back. "Do it!" the hanyou cried. Casting a confused look back down to Jiro, Goku got up.  
  
"We told you not to come back. You have three seconds to pray."  
  
"He's dead, isn't he?"  
  
Jiro stopped. Ren hadn't even prepared to attack. Goku stared up at the hanyou, then back to Jiro. "What would you know about it?" Jiro asked softly.  
  
"We saw the little campfire. Was it you?" The hanyou grinned as the question left his mouth. "'Cause you see, I'd -really- like to kill you." He rubbed the bandages over his arms, patting them almost affectionately. "But I'd also like to see this little guy right here do it." He patted the boy Goku's shoulder, and Jiro saw the gold eyes trained upon him flicker for just a second. They focused on his face and flitted to his scar, the bright scrape over his heart. Like a predator.  
  
"Stupid fuck, you think it was us?" Ren cried, incredulous and angry. "We don't even know exactly -who- it was and you come barging in accusing -us-?"  
  
"You're of no use, then," a soft voice said. It was oddly familiar, ultimately damning. Ren was dead before he hit the ground. Jiro turned in time to see a beautiful, hellish visage leveling a silver gun at the bright streak over his racing heart.  
  
"Save 'em, bouzu," the hanyou said, and Jiro landed heavy on the ground. His vision swam and his mouth filled with blood as he suddenly had no muscles with which to gasp for air. Dimly, he heard his body hit the ground an instant after he did, unable to even realize he wasn't attached.  
  
Gojyo retracted the chain of the shaku-jou and shook his head. "Poor idiots, huh?"  
  
Hakkai climbed out of the bushes, pulling a leaf from his sleeve. "While I admit hiding in the bushes wasn't the best of accommodations, it did seem to work pretty well."  
  
"Work? We're still at square one!" Gojyo cried, rubbing at his arms. They had been itching horribly ever since he laid eyes upon Fearless' burning remains and the sensation intensified when he heard the voices of his lackeys.   
  
Sanzo shoved his gun into the waist of his robe. "So we keep going."  
  
*  
  
"What's this thing do, anyhow?" someone asked, pointing waveringly at the scroll jammed down the front of Kozue's pants. The wine-stained fabric jutted obscenely, bobbing as he laughed.   
  
"No fuckin' idea." He snorted, taking it out and unrolling it. He squinted drunkenly at the symbols, and they danced before his eyes. "Hos'mura wansit 'cause ispreddy," Kozue replied finally, to the great amusement of his companions. "She gon' wear it to fuck ningens in!"  
  
The laughter stopped suddenly, and Kozue realized he'd crossed a line. His muzzy mind scrambled ineffectually for something to fix what he'd just said and came up empty-handed. The moment of silence stretched on until a sick, wet thump sounded in the afternoon. The canvas of the tent was thrown back and the youkai stared into the visage of an angel. Lucifer stared them down, each and every one, and did not flinch as his pets went to work.   
  
The shaku-jou cut through three at a time, each with a leisurely swing. Goku dove into the middle of the youkai, snapping the bones of the drunken idiots in near-boredom. Out of fifteen, one was left. Kozue dropped the scroll in his hands, preparing to battle. With the ever-present confidence of the intensely drunk, he was assured of his own victory. Before the youkai stood a fearsome sight. Two blood-soaked figures that glinted in the bright sunlight, dripping on the ground and bearing a look best described as 'ravenous.' And their angel, an incomparable beauty with violent, inviolate, violet eyes that confirmed the deep dark suspicions of worthlessness that pervade the psyche.   
  
And the angel sang to him. "That...is -mine-." The gun leveled itself at his head, and Kozue knew nothing but the warning click of the trigger.  
  
*  
  
"Sanzo, I hate to tell you this..." Hakkai brought his head back inside the tent with a smile so false it twitched. "But it's kind of obvious we've been heard."  
  
Sanzo snorted derisively, pulling the sutra from the bloodstained ground and shaking as he righted himself. "I don't care. Get Hakuryuu. Saru, kappa, take the tent down."  
  
Gojyo stared incredulously at Sanzo, but Hakkai and Goku quickly followed orders. Only when the blonde began muttering under his breath, replacing the sutra around his bare shoulders, did Gojyo understand. He threw the canvas back as hard as he could, helping Goku clear the way.  
  
The wave of youkai both curious and belligerent rushed inexorably toward the four, snarling in typical fashion of attack first, ask questions later. Gojyo, Goku, and Hakkai were already in Jiipu as Sanzo threw his head back and screamed the last words into the faces of the oncoming mob. The dirty, stained sutra pulsed to life, shooting in brilliant, serpentine strands toward the attack, obliterating the darkness that met it. The youkai were by no means annihilated, but the powerful offensive stunned the survivors enough to let Jiipu wheel by so Goku could grab Sanzo. The wheels left tracks of burning rubber in the dirt with a high-pitched squeal.  
  
*  
  
Sanzo passed out in Goku's grasp, fragile and utterly spent. Hakkai glanced back only once, then kept his eyes steadfastly on the terrain before them. Behind Jiipu, the surviving youkai rushed on, screaming vengeance and bloodlust. Gojyo helped haul Sanzo into Jiipu, then stood over Goku and Sanzo, sending out the chain of the shaku-jou to maim the fastest runners. Only once did he miss. That fortunate youkai grabbed the chain, yanking hard enough to unbalance Gojyo. Goku growled at the disturbance and pulled hard enough on the chain of the shaku-jou that the youkai found himself without hands. As the blade arced back toward them, Gojyo whipped it hard to get it under his control again.   
  
Goku glared up at him, hating having to let Gojyo handle the situation and promising that, should he screw up, death would be slow and arduous. He held Sanzo to him, protectively and viciously, propping the blonde's forehead against his neck. Blood from Goku's hands marred Sanzo's skin in brown fingerprints.  
  
Hakkai drove on, gritting his teeth against the pain in his arm but keeping his foot firmly planted on the accelerator. He mentally urged Hakuryuu on, though he knew the dragon was sore from having a good layer of his tires burned away and not in top form after the adrenaline-powered getaway of a few days before. The stress was wearing upon all of them. Gojyo collapsed into the passenger seat after a few moments.  
  
"Got them all."  
  
"Are you sure?" Hakkai asked, glancing back. The blood and bodies that littered the forest floor rapidly receded, and no new wave of attackers came. Hakkai eased up on the gas.   
  
"Sanzo?"  
  
"Out." Gojyo wiped his hands on his shirt, trying to massage life back into the stiff digits. Before long, they pulled again into sunlight and an ever-beautiful day. The afternoon was wearing on, and the sun was slowly dropping at their backs. And so desensitized was he that Hakkai began busying himself with how to convince Sanzo to drive around the woods the next morning, despite the extra time it might take. And so desensitized was he that Gojyo thought only of a good bath and perhaps a good woman. And so desensitized was he that Goku curled over Sanzo's body, feeling his pulse and hearing him breathe and breathing the scent of life that was so reassuring.   
  
To fortify oneself with the little things is a basic trait of survival. Without the beautiful days, the errands, the luxuries, it is easy to crumble. To leave this fortress is an ordeal indeed, but upon the return home it is the most natural thing in the world to add another layer to the walls. Hide the weak spot, for if the cornerstone crumbles, your castle will sink into sand. 


End file.
